


Just One Reason

by Thnks_fr_th_feels



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1920s, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Character, Bisexual Female Character, Colin Farrell is so much hotter than that fat albino, Credence Barebone Gets a Hug, Credence Barebone Learning Magic, Credence Barebone Lives, Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fuck Grindeldepp, Gay, Happy Credence Barebone, M/M, Mads Mikkelsen for Grindy 2k17, Romance, So much angst, YOU WON'T REGRET IT, doesn't explicitly say she's asexual but yeah she's asexual cause why not, don't worry no one dies, went from 100 to -18329573295730475038 real quick tbh, wizard mom, yes it has oc's but come on give me a chance pls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-03 16:17:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 133,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8720434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thnks_fr_th_feels/pseuds/Thnks_fr_th_feels
Summary: Abraham Fried, a hopeless romantic with no luck in finding a partner, hadn't expected to find the love of his life in the dirty alley next to his apartment building, never mind the fact that this future love was at the time a sentient mass of dark energy.Credence Barebone, broken, bruised and betrayed, never expected to find genuine kindness and acceptance, a family, after enduring so much pain at the hands of the one he loved most.But then again, life rarely goes in the way we expect.





	1. Chapter 1

_Madam Picquery cleared her throat._

_“We owe you an apology, Mr Scamander,” she sighed. “The magical community is exposed. We cannot obliviate an entire city.”_

_Although the president of the MACUSA was standing before him, apologizing for her former actions and on behalf of the magical community (an act that seemed to be a phenomenon in itself), Newt Scamander found himself distracted, just for a moment, as he noticed something out of the corner of his eye._

_He looked up, towards the sky outside the tunnel, just in time to see the sliver of a dark aura wisp through the opening in the ground and disappear._

_He gazed wistfully out at the spot where the aura had just been, until Madame Picquery’s potent voice revived his attention._

_From them on, he thought no more of the darkness._

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

It had been an average, if tiresome day for Abraham Fried. His job at Kowalski’s Quality Baked Goods, though having proved very rewarding, really took a toll on his everyday energy, especially since he had been held back today after the discovery of an ants’ next just inside the pantry. He was glad to finally be setting off into the night.

One foot in front of the other, he stumbled wearily down the darkened streets, heading to the small set of apartments he called home, a home he shared with his dearest friends, Sara Saltine and Beatrice Kramer. As he walked, he fantasized of the coconut muffins and herbal tea Bea had purchased just that morning. Such treats, and a short rest in his cozy armchair would surely relax his tired bones and muscles.

So tired was he, when he saw the sliver of darkness flit past him, he was certain he’d fallen into a sleep-like state in which he dreamed without actually closing his eyes.

But then the darkness crashed into the car several feet before him, thus ricocheting into the brick wall opposite and falling to the ground.

Abel (for that is what his friends called him) blinked twice. He was certain dreams, even conscious dreams, rarely made such a racket. His own dreams surely never had.

The darkness pulsated on the ground – it looked as if it was having some sort of fit. Curious, Abel cautiously drew closer, peering at the odd black mass on the ground.

It trembled as he stepped towards it, flashing red, and he drew back.

Suddenly, it fell still.

Abel cocked his head, curious as ever. Once more, he stepped towards it, slowly leaning down to study it more closely.

It lay still on the ground, a ribbon of black dust that one could surely mistake for common dirt if they weren’t paying close enough attention.

He inched his fingers towards it, not stopping for a moment to wonder if it might be dangerous. Abel, though he certainly had reason not to be, had always been trustful of others, especially of those unfamiliar to him. How was one supposed to get through life, he reasoned, if they were to shut down at the slightest peculiarity? Life in a box was surely not worth living, he had decided.

Just as his fingers brushed the aura, it shot upwards, zipping past his face, so close he felt it graze his ear. He jumped back in alarm, falling on his rear and giving a small shout.

The aura whipped down the street, faster than any car he’d ever seen, faster than a train, even. Definitely too fast to even consider trying to catch up to.

Without much thought, Abel picked himself up from the ground, and ran after it.

It was clumsy, he quickly came to realize. A trail of dented cars, disrupted flora and cracks in the walls he darted past soon led him to a small alleyway between two tall buildings, one of which he noticed happened to be the set of apartments in which he lived.

An outburst of noise sounded from within the darkened passage, drawing his attention to what lay within.

Smack.

Abel frowned. What was it doing?

Smack. Smack.

It sounded like a baseball bat, colliding against brick. He’d heard the sound many times in his youth, but that, however, is a tale reserved for a later chapter.

He stepped forward, and stopped. Finally, fear had begun to weave its darkened web. What if it was dangerous? What if it tried to hurt him? What if–?

Stop.

Abel tried to reason with himself. If the darkness wanted to hurt him, surely it would have by now, back when he was on his knees, utterly defenseless. Surely it would have the moment he approached the alleyway.

But it hadn’t. It had darted away. If anything, the darkness seemed…

Afraid.

Abel cocked his head in confusion? Why would such a thing experience fear? Did it have a heart? A mind? A conscience?

Smack. Smack. Smack.

The sound of the aura beating itself against the wall (for that is what he had by now guessed was happening) was starting to make Abel feel sick.

He looked around. As you, dear reader, may have surmised, it was rather late, and so the streets were devoid of any passers-by.

He checked his watch; it read 9:45 pm. Not long until the night watchmen began their curfew patrol.

At least he’d found himself so close to home. He still had some time left to…

What was he going to do?

He rather wanted to forget about the strange aura; leave the alleyway behind and head up to his apartment, with it’s nice warm bath and his nice warm bed… but he was still far too curious.

Curiousity killed the cat, they say, he thought briefly.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

Abel could stand the sound no longer. Without further hesitation, he stepped forward into the passage.

His footsteps, though quiet, still produced a soft echo in the enclosed space. The weak light from the street lamps had disappeared five steps in. Thus unable to see, he kept his back against the wall, shimmying forward slowly and feeling around for any obstacles or debris.

He became aware of the sudden silence. The moment he’d stepped into the alley, the sound had ceased.

It knew he was here.

Now Abel really wanted to run. Looking back, the street lights seemed miles away, though he had only travelled about fifteen feet so far.

He realized he was breathing rather heavily. He paused, waiting until his breath had slowed before continuing. Afraid as he was, curiousity still had the upper hand.

Further into the darkness he ventured, his eyes slowly adjusting to the absence of light.

Something soft touched his skin, and he stopped.

He raised a hand up to his cheek. It had felt like sand, or dirt, but there was nothing on his face to brush away.  
He felt movement in the atmosphere. What felt like sand rippled around him, brushing against his clothes, skimming over his dark skin. It wasn’t quiet, its motions producing something that sounded like wind scattering leaves across the street.

Terrified though he was, Abel was paralyzed. He couldn’t run. He couldn’t twitch a finger. He realized he couldn’t even choke down the lump in his throat.

Suddenly, light filled the passageway, the moon finally coming into view from behind the clouds.

The aura floated, right before his eyes. The once tiny sliver had grown, into a manifesto of darkness. It surrounded him completely, trembling and quivering, close enough to touch.

He didn’t think he’d seen anything in his life that compared to such terrible beauty.

“What are you?” He breathed; his first words spoken aloud since entering the alley.

“You’re beautiful.”

The aura vibrated.

Abel shook his head, as if breaking free from a trance. Realizing he could move again, he stepped forward, slowing reaching out his hand to touch it.

It thrummed, recoiling from his contact. Abel bit his lip, determined to connect with it, so fascinated by it was he. He held his arm in mid air, fingers still.

A few moments passed, the mass hesitant. Abel offered it a small smile.

“It’s okay,” he said gently. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Though still cautious, it seemed to trust him. Slowly, fragments of the aura, just the tiniest threads, extended towards him. The black powder coiled around his fingers, brushing gently across his palm. Somehow, it felt both soft and sharp at the same time, like tiny knives grazing over his skin.

Fascinated, he ran his fingers through the darkness, smiling at the sensation. It almost felt… ticklish!

“What are you?” He whispered (he found he couldn’t speak above a whisper). “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anything like you in my life.”

“HEY!”

Abel whipped around; shafts of light gleamed from the sidewalk outside the passageway. Footsteps began to sound towards him, the lights growing brighter as whoever it was ventured closer.

Abel backed away, his hands instinctually curling into fists at the possibility of danger. Turning back to the aura, he gasped to find it had doubled in size, pulsating an angry red.

“WHO GOES THERE?” The voice boomed, Abel recognizing it as coming from none other the chief of the night watchmen.

Now, while the chief was known to be extraordinarily racist and sexist, he had turned out to take a shine to Beatrice several months prior, and had thus never so much as poked neither Abel nor Sara. In fact, Abel had managed to weasel out of several interrogations in the past with false claims that Bea was sick (a very, very rare occurrence as it is), and he needed to run home at once to check on her wellbeing. He was certain he’d be able to weasel out of this particular dilemma without much fuss.

The footsteps were getting closer. Suddenly, a loud crash and a bout of swears sounded out it the small space, the bright light also disappearing.

It seemed as though the chief had tripped.

Thinking quickly, he opened his satchel, holding it out to the aura.

“Get in!” He hissed. “Quickly.”

The aura thrummed, glowing faintly.

Abel tried not to seem impatient. Though he still suspected he was either: a) hallucinating, b) dreaming, or c) in a coma, he didn’t want to offend or alarm this strange mass that seemed to him so much like a frightened child.

He held his bag up higher. “If you’re scared, I won’t close the buckles. You can leave whenever you feel threatened.”

The footsteps had resumed, though Abel noticed they appeared to be running away from him, rather than towards him like before.

He turned his attention back to the aura.

“I promise,” he said gently, reaching out again to run his fingers through it, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

At that, the darkness began to shrink, twirling itself like a black tornado, thinner and thinner until only the slimmest ribbon of powder had disappeared, not into Abel’s bag, but into the breast pocket of his coat. A safer alternative, Abel considered. While the chief might want to investigate his satchel due to his suspicious behaviour (hiding out in a dark alley after curfew), he was rather unlikely to rip the clothes off of Abel’s back.

Abel closed his bag, hoisting it back onto his shoulder, and gave his pocket a little pat. He turned around, ready to face the chief.

A few moments passed.

Abel cocked his head, confused. Odd, he thought. He expected the chief would’ve reached him by now.

He recalled the sound of running. Perhaps the chief had seen the aura, and run away in fright. Abel himself would have run away long ago, if he hadn’t been so curious.

Nevertheless, it seemed Abel would face no issues as he ventured the short distance to his apartment building’s front door.

The light from the moon had faded again, clouds once again concealing her celestial glow, and so Abel had to exit the alley following the same methods as he had upon entering: shimmying against the wall, hands feeling around for any obstacles or debris.

Funny, it was, how the journey out of the alley seemed so much shorter than his journey within. No time at all seemed to have passed before he found himself back on the sidewalk, bathed in the dim light of the street lamps.

Quietly but quickly, he headed the few feet down the path to his apartment building’s front doors. He slipped inside, and only once he had made it up the stairs, into the apartment, and closed and locked the bedroom door behind him did he remember to breathe.

He collapsed against the door, panting heavily.

“My goodness!” He murmured. “Oh, my goodness!”

The room was pitch black. Abel felt around until he reached his beside table, where he flicked on his lamp. Its dim glow cast strange shadows over the little room.

Smiling softly at the familiar comfort, he glanced down at his pocket, and patted it gently. Was it still there? Had it all been a dream? Had he gone mad?

“Hello?” He whispered to his pocket. “If, by chance, you are actually real and not a former hallucination, everything is all right. It is safe to come out.”

Abel waited patiently, holding his pocket open.

“It’s okay,” he said coaxingly, after no response. “Everything is all right.”

A few moments later, just as he was once again beginning to question his sanity, the little sliver of darkness peeked out from within his jacket. Slowly, slowly, it withdrew, until it shot out completely, like a flash of lightning, and zipped to the corner of the room farthest away from Abel.  
The aura hovered in the air for a time, quivering slightly, but then it began to circle the small room, seeming to take in its surroundings.

It drifted past the bed and beside table, but it wavered at both the bookshelf and Abel’s desk, which was littered with his drawing papers and boxes of pencils (and several half finished cups of coffee he meant to wash but honestly couldn’t be bothered).

Then, once it seemed it had finished its inspection, it came back to hover in front of Abel.

And then it grew, larger and larger, the small sliver transforming into billowing clouds of darkness that surrounded Abel like water, until the dim light had been entirely snuffed out and he could no longer see, only feel its delicate contact as it grazed over his skin.

And as he closed his eyes, he thought, _this is how I am going to die._

But then it began to shrink, the darkness twisting and pressing itself into a particular shape, and when Abel opened his eyes again, the darkness had disappeared completely.

Now, there was something completely different in its place.

And it was a boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please like and comment :)
> 
> I'm thnks-fr-th-feels on Tumblr!


	2. Chapter 2

Abel yelled, jumping away from the stranger. The backs of his knees hit his bed and he collapsed back onto the mattress, gasping and sputtering in shock.

The stranger flinched at his outburst, drawing away from him. He pressed himself against the wall, staring at Abel in fear.

Abel shook his head, trying to regain his senses. As alarmed as he was, this was still a young boy who looked and seemed thoroughly terrified. Besides, the idea of the aura turning into a boy couldn’t really be any stranger than an actual sentient mass of darkness itself, now could it?

Abel cleared his throat, also trying (once again) to maintain his breathing.

He looked over at the boy, whom of which was now huddled down in the corner. The boy stared back, shivering slightly.

His eyes were dark, and sullen, jutting out from his deathly pale face like two shiny beetles. His hair, short and black, looked as if it had once been neat, but was now greasy and unkempt. His clothes were torn, and oh, was he skinny. Even from across the room, Abel could see the bones sticking out from his jacket and trousers, as well as the ugly red welts and bruises that peppered his face and hands.

He was also rather unshaven, small black bristles sticking out from his chin and cheeks.

Abel gazed at him, thinking about what to do first. What this boy clearly needed was a nice hot bath, some nice hot soup, and several cups of nice hot tea, but Abel knew it was far too late to start making a ruckus around the apartment, lest he wake up Beatrice and Sara.

Speaking of the two ladies, what was he going to tell them come morning? While Abel’s good-naturedness sometimes got the best of him, Sara herself found it hard to trust people, especially people she didn’t know. Beatrice was logical and stern, and while she wouldn’t object to having a visitor, the possibility of a new tenant in their already quite cramped quarters was practically out of the question.

(He still hadn’t quite convinced her that a dog would an excellent new addition to their little family.)

Then again, Bea had pretty much picked them off the streets as children, despite being little more than a child herself at the time. Abel was sure he could figure out a way to convince her into letting the young man stay for a little while.

Or forever, Abel thought with a little smirk. Even in his poor, forsaken state, Abel couldn’t help noticing how attractive he was – his soft looking skin, his feminine pink lips, the intensity of his bewitching dark eyes.

As he was thinking this, there suddenly came several knocks at the door.

“Abel?” Iz everyting all right?” Beatrice’s voice sounded from the next room.

Abel cursed silently, clearing his intrusive thoughts. She must’ve heard his yell.

“Everything is alright, Bea!” He called back hastily. “It was only a nightmare!”

A nightmare? He thought to himself. That’s all he could come up with? Such a thing couldn’t possibly seem more childish!

“A nightmare?” Beatrice sounded surprised. “That’s qvite out of ze ordinary for you, vouldn’t you zay?”

Abel chuckled nervously. Normally, he found himself to be an impeccable liar, a master of deceit, but good old Bea always saw through his tall tales. She was a smart one, that woman.

“Odd, I know,” Abel replied smoothly. “But still, it does happen from time to time.”

Beatrice rarely laughed aloud, but Abel could tell she was amused. He had a rather smart mouth to add to his quick tongue.

“Hold on vun second,” she said suddenly. “Vat time did you git hoom? I don’t believe I heard you come in vile I voz azleep.”

Abel froze. “Um, not long ago, I believe!” He said quickly. “I fell asleep as soon as I climbed into bed, and the next thing I knew, I was awake and yelling!”

He heard her chuckle, and smiled.

“Perhaps I ate too much today,” he said offhandedly (he did work in a bakery, after all). “Anyway, everything is fine, really.

“You should head off to bed, and so should I,” he added, upon seeing the time on his bedside clock. “We both have to be up early in the morning.”

On the other side of the door, Bea hesitated. She still sensed something was a little off, but eventually she just shrugged.

“Very vell then,” she said sharply. “Good night, Abel. Sveet dreams, this time around.”

Abel laughed. “Good night, Bea.”

He waited until he’d heard her bedroom door close before exhaling.

“Okay. He turned his attention back to the strange boy in the corner, and stopped.

“Oh.”

The boy was slumped against the wall, eyes closed, breaths steady. His hands were clenched tightly at his sides, so Abel was unsure whether or not he had actually fallen asleep.

“Hmm…” Abel took two steps forward, frowning slightly. From what he’d had seen so far, the young man didn’t seem like the kind of person to fall asleep so quickly in a stranger’s home. He must’ve been exhausted, letting his guard down like that so easily.

Abel stepped closer.

“Um… excuse me? Sir?”

Hmm… sir seems a bit formal, he thought to himself.

But then again, “you” or “boy” sounds too informal, rude even.

Ugh.

Abel crouched down, only a couple of feet away from the boy.

“Excuse me?” He said again.

The boy’s eyes snapped open, but almost immediately slid halfway shut again. He opened them fully once more, sitting up and drawing away from Abel as best as he could, his breath shaky.

“Okay, not so asleep after all,” Abel muttered to himself.

The boy did seem very tired though, all of a sudden. Perhaps the excitement of being found and taken into the apartment had worn off, or maybe his transformation from matter to man left him without much energy. Abel had to admit the latter was far more fascinating.

“Hey there,” Abel smiled at him, hoping he passed off as kind rather than creepy.

“How are you doing?”

The boy didn’t respond, but Abel noted his expression didn’t seem as frightened. He just looked tired.

Abel was tired too, now that he thought about it.

“Alright then,” he backpedalled. “How about… we take this up in the morning?” He smiled again. “I think we both could get some rest.”

Abel stood, and put his hands on his hips. While the boy clearly needed care, Abel decided the best thing to do right now would give him some space and privacy, allow him to gather his bearings.

“Okay.” Abel walked over to his dresser and pulled out two pairs of pyjamas; a set of bottoms and a top and a simple nightgown.

“You can wear the nightgown,” he said to the boy, who was now half standing up again, albeit still leaning against the wall tiredly. “I don’t know whether my pants will fit you, you’re so skinny…” he muttered.

Abel dropped the nightgown on the bed. “And, um… you can also take the bed tonight. I’ll take the couch; give you some privacy.”

He chuckled nervously. On the outside he acted calm enough, but inside he was over the moon of having a man at the apartment (young though he was), and such an attractive one no less!

Abel felt heat rising in his cheeks. Good god, he was thinking like a lovesick schoolgirl.

He turned back to the young man, now fully standing, and smiled again.

“You can turn off the lamp by pulling the cord,” he explained. “And oh,” he walked over to the bedside table and picked up a small key. “This key? You can use it to lock the bedroom from the inside. No one can come in unless you let them.”

He put the key down again, in plain sight of the young man.

Abel tucked his own pair of pyjamas to his chest. “I’m going to leave now, and you can have the room to yourself. If you need me, um… cough or sneeze, or you can come to me yourself if you wish.”

The boy glanced at the warm bed, looking a little taken aback. He glanced back at Abel, who smiled comfortingly.

On a whim, Abel started forward slowly. The boy flinched as he drew closer, but kept relatively still, as if he thought Abel would turn aggressive if he tried to run.

Abel slowed his pace even more, raising his hands at his sides so the boy could see them. He kept a comforting look on his face, hoping the young man would realize he wasn’t a threat.

Once he was only a metre or so away from the young man, Abel stopped. He quickly realized he was right between the boy’s only escape if he felt threatened, and cursed himself.

He sincerely hoped the boy didn’t feel threatened.

The boy in question, Abel realized, was shaking violently, his lip quivering, but he froze completely at Abel’s next words.

“You’re safe here,” Abel said, hoping he sounded legitimate. “I promise, no harm is going to come to you while I’m here.

“No one is going to hurt you.”

He nodded, trying to look authoritative. That’s right. He was the mama bear, the nanny, the mother goose. He was going to protect this small, attractive young man from the big bad world.

Abel suppressed a chuckle at his own theatrics. While the boy did look young, he still seemed old enough to cope well enough on his own.

The boy in question looked even more astonished than before, but a few moments later he responded Abel with the smallest of nods.

Abel grinned.

“Very well then.” Abel stepped away from the boy, noting his exhalation as he did so. “I bid you goodnight, young lad, and I shall see you in the morning.”

Offering the boy one final smile, Abel left the room, and closed the door quietly behind him.

Tired as he was, Abel found he could not fall asleep several minutes later, curled up on the small couch. He couldn’t find an extra blanket in the dark, so he’d had to make do with one of Sara’s knitted throw rugs. As warm as they were, they were a tad too small for his tall, pudgy frame.

But that wasn’t the cause of his sudden sleeplessness.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the mysterious young man. How was he doing now? Had he put on the pyjamas? Had he gotten into bed? Was he asleep now, comfortable and warm? Perhaps he was awake like Abel. Perhaps he wasn’t even in bed. Perhaps he was curled up in the corner, watching the door like a hawk with the lamp in his hands and the key between his knuckles, or was that something only women did? Both Sara and Bea had taken to holding their keys in their fingers as they walked home, either alone or with him, but that had begun only after…

Well, that’s a story for another chapter.

Abel’s thoughts were quickly developing from merely worrisome to outright paranoid.

_Say he’s deaf? Say he can’t speak English? Say he was an obscure serial killer with a history of thousands? Say he was a Communist? A devoted Catholic? A member of the recently founded KKK?_

Abel’s mindless (and ridiculous) theories fell well into the night.

But meanwhile, in the other room, Credence Barebone’s dreams quickly drifted into nightmares, each more horrifying than the last, in which leather snapped and hands slapped and a painfully familiar voice whispered that no one was ever going to love him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please like and comment :)
> 
> I'm thnks-fr-th-feels on tumblr!


	3. Chapter 3

Abel awoke the next morning with a plan.

Luckily, it seemed he was the first one awake in the apartment, so he had time to take his plan into action (as well as avoid having to explain why he’d slept on the couch and not in his bed).

Drowsy as he was, he lifted his sore body from the couch and headed into the kitchen, where he put on the kettle. He took a loaf out of the bread tin, set out some spreads and jams, and then sat down in a chair at their little dining table, where he promptly fell back asleep.

He was awoken again around half an hour later, to the sound of a door slamming shut.

Barely conscious of where he was (and aching all over), he decided the best thing to do was go back to sleep, but then suddenly hands were on his shoulders, shaking him furiously.

“Abel!” Beatrice’s voice said sternly. “Abel, vake up!”

Abel groaned softly. God be damned, even his tongue hurt.

Bea tutted at him, hands on her hips. She prodded him again, but, after receiving no response, instead went to prepare her own breakfast.

Sara, who had left the bedroom alongside Beatrice, sat down beside Abel, smiling amusedly.

She patted his hand gently, and waved her hands in front of his face, trying to catch his attention. After no response, she looked up at Beatrice, slicing bread in the kitchen.

While her friend found the situation annoying, Sara was concerned. Abel was usually chipper and alert, even so early in the morning. It was unusual for him to seem so jaded.

Abel, having gathered his thoughts, finally remembered his plan. Slowly, he lifted himself up from the table, only to slump back into his chair. He groaned again, raising a hand to hold his head.

“Sorry, all,” he muttered. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling very well.”

Bea tutted at him again, but now she herself was a little concerned. This _was_ out of character for Abel, but she quickly realized it wasn’t something she hadn’t seen before. She’d seen her friend sick before. At worst, she guessed, it was most likely a migraine.

Sara fetched her notebook and pen, and wrote out a little message for Abel. She patted his shoulder again, and he opened his eyes to look down at what she’d written.

_Are you feeling alright?_

Abel chuckled softly. “I am afraid not, friend,” he said slowly. “I had quite a restless night, and unfortunately seem to have gained a migraine… Perhaps I had not enough dinner, or I slept in a strange position…”

Sara smiled sympathetically. She patted his hand one more, before rising from the chair to help Beatrice prepare breakfast.

Before long, Beatrice was rushing out the door, breakfast in her hand and lunch in her satchel, and Sara followed soon after. Sara worked in a grocery store down the road from Kowalski’s, and often helped out at the bakery on weekends.

Neither of them knew where Beatrice worked, or what she even did for a living. Abel sometimes fantasized she was an agent of the American government, or some member of a secret service.

Sara thought not.

Abel waited half an hour after the pair had left before springing into action.

He walked slowly towards the bedroom door, trying to contain his excitement. He reminded himself that while the darkness had turned into a seemingly harmless boy, the boy himself could still be dangerous.

Although, Abel reasoned, if there was any time to lash out, to harm, it would’ve been last night, while Abel and his friends were sleeping, utterly defenseless.

From his point of view, he’d left the boy completely in control of the situation, which Abel realized now had been risky indeed. But hey, he was alive, and so were his friends, and from what he could tell nothing had been stolen.

Perhaps the boy wasn’t even in the room anymore. Perhaps he’d fled during the night, at a time when it was both too late and too early for any of them to be awake.

Abel stopped before his door, feeling slightly intimidated as it loomed before him, dark and heavy.

He raised his hand, lowered it, took a shaky breath, raised it again, lowered it again, cursed himself for his childishness, raised it once more, cleared his throat, and knocked.

A few moments later, he knocked again, but after receiving still no response, he tried the door.

It was unlocked.

Abel turned the handle, but before he entered the room, he decided it was best to alert the boy of his presence, if indeed he was still there.

“Hello?” He called. “It’s only me, the man you met last night.”

Abel pushed the door open, and entered the room slowly. He placed his hands on his thighs, in plain sight.

The bed was empty, and undisturbed. The lamp and key were on the bedside table where he’d left them. Abel walked over to the window and drew the curtains, allowing the early morning sunlight to fill the room.

He looked around, and sighed. There was no dark figure huddled behind the bed, or in the corner, or even behind the door. He found himself checking under the bed, wondering how his friends would think of him acting like an anxious mother duck, but alas, the boy was nowhere to be found.

Abel sighed again, but as he turned to leave the room, he heard the tiniest sneeze.

He stopped in his tracks, whipping around at the sound.

The boy was still nowhere to be seen, but now Abel turned his attention to a final hiding place.

The closet.

Abel smiled, suppressing a chuckle.

He walked over slowly, humming a little tune.

“I know you’re in there, young man,” he laughed. “I’m going to open the door, okay?”

As Abel grasped the door handle, he realized how intimidating those couple of sentences might have sounded, and hastily added, “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”

And with that, he opened the door.

The boy was huddled at the bottom of the closet, surrounded by shirts and sweaters on their hangers. He glared up at Abel, dark eyes seeming huge in his deathly pale face.

Abel smiled warmly.

“Good morning, young man,” he said brightly.

The boy glared.

Abel kneeled down to the boy’s level, taking on a gentler note.

“I’m so glad you didn’t run away last night,” he said softly. “I like you. I’d like to help you, in any way I can. And I think that, because you’re still here, you want me to as well.”

Abel offered his hand to the young man.

“Will you let me help you?”

The boy swallowed, staring at Abel’s outstretched hand like it was a bomb about to detonate.

However, a few moments later, he met Abel’s eyes again, and nodded.

Abel lit up, grinning.

The boy raised his hand. Slowly, he tapped Abel’s hand with his finger, immediately withdrawing it like he’d been shocked.

When Abel didn’t move, still smiling encouragingly, the boy seemed to relax a little. He raised his hand again, this time letting all his fingers slide through Abel’s.

Dear God, the boy’s hand seemed as it was made to fit in his own, Abel marveled. As pale as it had been before, the boy’s hand now seemed white as snow within Abel’s own, smooth and brown as leather.

Abel stood, still holding the boy’s hand, and helped him out of the closet.

Now, in the sunlight, Abel could see every little injury on the boy’s skin. Small pink scars covered both his face and hands, to add to the ugly red welts on his palms. To Abel’s particular dismay, he found the boy’s pink lips were littered with cuts and small scabs.

Thinking back to the welts, Abel realized his strong grip might be hurting the boy, and gently removed his hand.

The boy lowered his gaze, breathing shakily. He fumbled his hands together, gently tracing over the small scars.

Abel watched him for a moment, before clearing his throat.

“So, um…” Abel flashed a quick grin as the boy looked up at him again. “What do you say we go and have something to eat?”

The boy stared at him for a few moments; once again seeming astonished, but then nodded quickly. As if on cue, his stomach rumbled, and he flushed.

Abel resisted the urge to pinch his cheek. It wasn’t fair that the boy got to be attractive _and_ charming, damn it.

He patted the boy’s shoulder gently. “Don’t worry young man,” he chuckled. “You’re in the hands of the finest cook in the building, if I do say so myself.”

He led the boy out of the room, and into the kitchen. The boy stood by the wall, watching Abel as he opened drawers and cupboards and carried ingredients to the bench.

“Let’s see here, we’ve got tea and coffee, or if you like I can whip up some hot chocolate?” Abel turned back to smile at his guest, who was still staring at him like a deer in the headlights.

Abel chuckled. “Well, in my own opinion, you can never go wrong with some good, old-fashioned hot chocolate, which would actually…” Abel turned to rummage through the pantry, “go very well with pancakes and, “Abel pulled a basket from the shelf, “chocolate chip muffins!”

He grinned at the boy, offering him the crumbly baked goods.

The boy eyed him warily, gaze drifting between his face and the basket in his hands. Abel grinned back at him, holding the basket out further.

The boy, eyes now not leaving Abel’s slowly reached out towards it. Quickly, he nabbed a muffin, withdrawing his hand as though he’d been stung.

Abel recognized such behaviour, and he raised his brows, wondering at the boy’s story. From what he’d seen so far, he guessed it hadn’t been kind.

Abel set the basket on the bench, frowning. Curious as he was, he knew now wasn’t the time for interrogation.

Right now, the first thing the boy needed was a nice hot meal… and some new clothes, actually, Abel observed. His own were far too torn to mend, and anyway looked quite tight and uncomfortable.

Abel smiled at the boy, who’d by now finished the muffin and was eyeing the basket hungrily.

“Take one,” Abel said kindly. “Have as many as you like. You’re my guest now. What’s mine is yours.”

The boy flushed again. He stepped quickly over to the bench, not meeting Abel’s eyes, and took the entire basket before darting away again.

Abel laughed, watching as the boy stuffed the baked goods into his mouth.

“It’s nice to see that someone around here finally appreciates my food,” he jested.

The boy didn’t reply, but…

Perhaps it was just a nervous jitter, or a trick of the light, but, just for a moment, Abel swore that he had smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *DISCLAIMER*
> 
> In no way do I ship Credence Barebone and Gellert Grindelwald. The events of this chapter are set before Grindelwald's escape.

Credence sat silently at the table, eyeing the man as he cluttered around his small kitchen. He took several boxes of white powder and shook them into a large bowl. Following this, he added a dish of soft yellow stuff, and a bowl of slimy orange goo.

Credence bit his lip, suspicious. Surely such strange ingredients couldn’t possibly be edible.

The man looked back at him and smiled. Noticing Credence’s skeptical expression, he raised the bowl and grinned.

“Pancakes,” he said. “I’m making pancakes.”

Credence relaxed a little. Although he’d never had pancakes, he knew at least what they were. A diner several streets from the church served them until midday.

Mr Graves had taken him there several times at the beginning of their relationship… back when he’d still been kind.

Credence grit his teeth. He shook his head, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts, but he already feel the old memories start to thread through his mind.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

It had been only the day after they’d met for the first time. Credence remembered Mr Graves’ warm hand wrapped around his own cold one, leading him quickly through the streets.

_“W-where are we g-going, M-Mr Graves?” Credence’s voice shook both from the brisk walk and from his own nervousness._

_“We have to hurry,” Mr Graves replied mysteriously. “It’s almost impossible to find good seats at this hour.”_

_Credence was more confused than ever, but he didn’t want Mr Graves to think he was pestering him, so he kept silent until they’d reached their destination._

_It was warm inside the diner. A waiter found the pair a small table at the back of the room, nearby a painting of what looked like the Last Supper. Funny thing was, all of the people in the painting had been replaced with small dogs._

_Credence suppressed a chuckle, not wanting to seem disrespectful, but when the older man laughed heartily, he allowed himself a small smile._

_Credence waited until Mr Graves had sat down before taking a seat himself. He kept his back straight, hands folded neatly in his lap, his eyes lowered respectfully._

_Mr Graves coughed once; Credence lifted his gaze to meet his eyes, dropping it again almost immediately. He already felt tense, but now the older man was also starting to make him uncomfortable._

_For a few minutes, the silence between them was deafening, Mr Graves’ only words being his order to the waiter (“two of the usual, a bottle of water, and the chef’s choice dessert, thank you”)._

_Credence ached to question the older man of his intentions, but he didn’t want to endure punishment if he was perceived as rude. However, from the way he could tell Mr Graves was gazing at him, he was obviously waiting for him to speak._

_Finally, the young man could stand it no longer._

_“W-why did you bring me here?” He blurted, not meeting his companion’s eyes. He lowered his gaze even further, waiting for the older man to insult him or slap at him in annoyance._

_Before Mr Graves could reply, however, Credence kept going._

_“It’s m-my daily rounds t-t-today,” he stuttered. “And if I get back late, or if Ma finds out I’m absent or slacking or if I don’t hand out all the pamphlets then she’ll…”_

_“Shh, shh, shh,” Mr Graves reached over and patted Credence’s arm lightly, stunning him into silence. He stared at the man now, no longer afraid of seeming disrespectful._

_The older man smiled gently, giving Credence’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry,” he smiled. “I’ll see to it that you return home promptly, and that those pamphlets-“_

_Before Credence could object, Mr Graves had snatched them up from where the young man had set them on the table._

_“-Are distributed evenly.”_

_Credence flinched at the older man’s sudden movement, but he didn’t reply; he found he could only stare._

_But then Mr Graves grinned at him, and then winked of all things._

_Credence felt heat rising in his cheeks. He coughed, ducking his head in embarrassment._

_Mr Graves chuckled; giving Credence’s a final squeeze before removing his hand._

_Credence, only fully realizing then that he’d been touched, found he almost immediately missed the friendly contact. However, he pretended not to have noticed he had been touched at all._

_Suddenly, Mr Graves’ expression turned serious. He sat up a little straighter, steepling his fingers on the small table._

_Credence tensed, but he kept Mr Graves’ gaze, trying not to seem fearful at the older man’s abrupt change in attitude._

_“Now,” Mr Graves began. “Taking from your surname, am I correct in assuming you’re related to a… Ms Mary Lou Barebone?”_

_Credence flinched a little, now not even trying to mask his caution. Had his ma perhaps consulted with this man to draw Credence away from his work, so she found she had reason to punish him later?_

_Honestly, he wouldn’t put it past her._

_Credence almost pinched himself. How rude he was! Mary Lou had been kind enough to take him off the streets as a child, to grant him with food eat and a bed to sleep in every night, and this is how he repaid her generosity? Really, he deserved the beatings, didn’t he?_

_Mr Graves quietly cleared his throat, snapping Credence back to reality. Credence, realizing the older man was waiting for an answer, coughed in embarrassment, almost pinching himself again for his blatant disrespect._

_“R-right, um…” Credence cleared his throat. “Y-yes, I am h-her son – adoptive. A-adoptive s-son.”_

_Although Mary Lou didn’t altogether seem to mind his calling her “Ma,” she’d always given him a strong pinch if he dared refer to himself as her son. Odd, yes, but Mary Lou Barebone was certainly no ordinary woman._

_Mr Graves nodded, looking somber. “Ah, yes. I’ve had several run-ins with that ghastly woman before. Actually, a friend of mine used to attend her church. ‘Beastly,’ she’d always say to me. ‘Everything about that woman is absolutely beastly.’_

_“Anyway,” the older man moved on. “From what I could put together upon meeting you yesterday, Credence, it seems to me as though you don’t have many friends.”_

_Credence turned pink in embarrassment. At this, Mr Graves reached forward again, touching Credence’s arm and giving it a gentle squeeze._

_This time, instead of tensing, Credence found himself (almost) relaxing at the contact. He lifted his head ever so slightly, offering his companion the tiniest of smiles before dropping his gaze back down to his folded hands._

_Mr Graves leaned forward in his seat, rubbing the young man’s arm comfortingly. Feeling a little more relaxed, Credence looked up again, this time holding the older man’s gaze._

_Mr Graves smiled kindly, giving Credence’s arm another squeeze._

_“Credence,” he said gently. “Will you let me be your friend?”_

_Credence choked, shocked beyond belief. He was expecting taunting or ridicule, not the very proposition of friendship._

_Trembling with exhilaration, Credence felt too overwhelmed to speak, but he managed to muster a short, quick nod, which then turned into a few moments of frantic nodding and blubbering as Credence found himself beginning to cry,_

_A friend!_

_Mr Graves smiled kindly. He lifted his hand to cup Credence’s cheek, thankfully managing to prevent him from shaking the head off his shoulders._

_Credence, trying desperately to choke back his sobs, grasped the man’s hand. Too focused on not being hit for his public insolence, he barely paid attention to the stinging pains in his palm._

_Graves offered him a napkin, still smiling. Quickly, he wiped the snot and tears from his face, before lifting the older man’s hand to his lips and kissing it repeatedly._

_Credence then realized how odd such actions might seem to one who wasn’t outright familiar with the ways of his church, quickly released the older man’s hand, sputtering apologies._

_“P-pardon m-me, M-M-Mr G-Graves,” Credence blurted. “I d-didn’t mean t-to seem inapprop-p-priate o-or forward or s-s-strange. You see, th-this is how w-w-we show respect a-and a-admira”_

_“Shh, shh, shh,” Mr Graves did indeed look a little pink in the face, but he didn’t seem altogether uncomfortable or offended at Credence’s forwardness._

_The older man shifted in his seat several times, looking embarrassed of all things, and cleared his throat before speaking again._

_“Not to worry,” he said kindly. “We share a similar custom in my family, only we kiss one’s ring rather than his or her bare hand.”_

_Credence looked down at his friend’s hand, devoid of even the simplest metal band, and raised his eyebrows._

_Mr Graves chuckled. “I don’t have my own ring yet,” he explained. “It will be passed down to me once my father passes on, as is also the custom.”_

_Credence nodded, allowing himself another small smile._

_It was then that their waiter returned, bearing two trays; one was laden down with food, and the other held various beverages._

_Credence’s eyes bulged as the stocky young man set their food on the table. He didn’t think he’d ever seen so much food in one place in his life._

_Two large plates were filled to the brim with sandwiches, salad and… odd yellow wedges? The first thing he could think of was potatoes, as the strips certainly weren’t made of corn, but he’d never seen potatoes prepared in such a way before._

_Aside from the main dish, the waiter also set down two small, green bottles, a larger clear bottle of water, and a small plate of what looked like a hunk of mud._

_Credence raised his eyebrows. Surely the staff wouldn’t possibly feed dirt to their guests._

_Or would they? Perhaps there were rocks in the sandwiches, bugs hidden in the salad. Perhaps this was all a joke, a set up to humiliate Credence and leave him lonelier than before._

_Credence picked through his salad suspiciously for a few moments, thinking as he did so how he’d forgotten food could be green. You see, when one is served simple gruel and lumpy stew, day after day, even the mere dreams of finer dining begin to fade._

_Mr Graves grinned at the waiter. “Thank you, Nkosana,” he said._

_The waiter with the strange name smiled back, bowing slightly before leaving the pair, the trays tucked under his arm._

_Mr Graves smiled when he saw the hunk of mud, and Credence relaxed a little. If his friend knew what it was, was even pleased to see it, then surely it must not all be that bad._

_But the food wasn’t Credence’s only concern. Surely such finery couldn’t possibly come all that cheap, and Credence himself was no man of means._

_Mr Graves seemed to read his mind, for he chuckled._

_“If money happens to be an issue,” he said suavely, “you really don’t have to worry yourself. It’s all taken care of.”_

_Credence coughed in surprise, but before he could begin protesting, his friend continued._

_“You see, Credence, the owner of this establishment and I go way back,” the older man grinned. “A few months ago, actually, I saved him, his brother and his niece and nephew from drowning.”_

_“R-Really?” Credence was already captivated by the single sentence alone, now giving no though to his previous worries._

_Mr Graves smiled, glad to see that the young man was beginning to open up._

_“Yes, really,” he replied. “So, our food today, or any other day you’d like to come here with me, is on the house.”_

_Credence blinked, this time managing to contain his shock. He didn’t want to seem naïve or childish, not when seated before such a composed, charming man._

_He nodded simply, indicating he understood his friend’s words._

_“Thank you, Mr Graves,” he said politely, and before he knew it, he was smiling fully._

_Mr Graves grinned back, now looking more pleased than ever._

_“Please,” he suggested. “Call me Percival.”_

_Credence flushed, lowering his gaze and smiling softly._

_“Percival…” he whispered to himself._

_The next two hours passed in a blur to Credence. The young man’s first bite of his beef and onion “burger” proved to be so delicious that he downed over half of the sandwich (and a good number of what he learned were called “potato chips”) in a matter of minutes._

_This led to him having to excuse himself to go throw up in the bathroom, his stomach not used to so much good food consumed in such a short time._

_“Seems I should’ve ordered something lighter,” Percival murmured to himself as he helped his companion clean up, as well as offering a mint to freshen his breath, that of which he produced from literally nowhere._

_Credence ate the rest of his meal much more slowly, listening intently between nibbles to Percival’s stories of adventure and travel._

_Credence himself had never even left the state, and his own stories were far less entertaining, but he found he much preferred to hear his friend speak._

_Credence didn’t end up liking the Ginger Ale his friend had offered, but he found he couldn’t get enough of the dessert, that of which Percival told him was called chocolate cake._

_The cake itself was rather heavy, and Credence, already almost full, would’ve refrained from eating it, had it not been for the frosting._

_Credence adored the frosting. Although it was also made with chocolate, it tasted a lot sweeter than the cake, and Credence found he wanted to eat nothing else for the rest of his days._

_He refrained from asking for another slice, however, not wanting to seem like he was imposing on his new friend’s generosity._

_Besides, his stomach still felt a tad queasy. He didn’t want to trouble his friend further with yet another bout of sickness._

_Before they left, Percival slipped the leftover bottle of Ale into his bag, winking at Credence. When he took the younger man’s hand, Credence found instead of the usual stinging pains, he felt only warmth. Resisting the desire to hold on tighter, he allowed himself to be led through the diner and back out into the street, though not before Percival left a hefty tip on the counter._

_They treaded through the city silently. Credence, used to his own hunched scampering, found himself almost running to keep up with Percival’s confident gait. But as they neared Credence’s street, the young man realized his friend hadn’t actually answered his earlier question._

_“Um… Mr Graves?” he piped up, using the man’s title respectfully. If Percival became annoyed at being questioned at random, at least he would know Credence meant no offense or impudence._

_Percival stopped, turning to meet the younger man’s gaze. “Yes?” He asked, not seeming displeased in the least._

_Credence, feeling more confident, offered a small smile. “I was only wondering, um… w-what was today about? Why did you bring me to the diner?”_

_Percival raised his brow._

_“I-it’s not that I’m n-n-not grateful for y-your generosity,” Credence added hastily, trying not to panic, “O-or that I d-didn’t h-have a nice t-t-time, because I-I did, r-really. I o-only find it odd that y-you were s-so willing to spend your hours with me…”_

_The young man lowered his gaze, biting his lip nervously. Percival was probably angry with him now, sneering at how ungrateful he was. He wished now he had only followed silently._

_But then the older man patted his arm, in the same friendly way as he had before, and when Credence lifted his gaze, he found his friend didn’t seem at all annoyed or offended, albeit a little somber._

_“I… I like you, Credence,” Percival said slowly, managing soft smile. “And I know your mother isn’t a very nice woman. And while I can’t simply whisk you away under cover of night, I do believe one of the best things for you right now is a friend.”_

_Credence wanted to smile, but he was afraid he found Percival’s statement to be a little… problematic._

_“S-so…” he said very quietly. “You p-pity me. I-I’m just a donation to your moral charity.”_

_“No, no,” Percival backpedaled, honestly stunned at the younger man’s sudden display of spite. “No, Credence, you misunderstood. What I mean is, I didn’t take you out today as an act of charity, or as a good deed. I took you out because I liked you, and wanted to spend time with you. You’re a very charming young man, Credence. And anyway, um… you’re not the only one who needed a friend.”_

_Percival’s cheeks went pink, and he looked away from Credence, whom of which was now honestly shocked at the older man’s sudden change of character. Percival Graves, charming and suave as he’d acted since Credence had first met him the day before, held an impenetrable, stoic composure, and it was far from easy to even guess at the thoughts weaving through his mind._

_But now, this same man seemed almost… vulnerable._

_So Credence touched him._

_He lifted his hand slowly, eyes only on his bold actions, and reached out to touch Percival’s gently._

_When Percival didn’t pull away, Credence relaxed slightly. Eyes lowering even further, he wrapped his fingers completely around the man’s warm hand, as tense and careful as though he were grasping nothing short of a grenade._

_Credence glanced up. Percival’s gaze had turned back to him, and so he held eye contact respectfully._

_Percival smiled comfortingly at him, giving Credence’s hand a small squeeze. Like before, Credence didn’t feel the sting in his palm as Percival’s hand tightened around his; only a pleasant, warm sensation, as though he were holding a cup of tea in his hands._

_He relaxed further, even taking the step of squeezing back._

_“Um… I, uh…” Credence began awkwardly, tripping over his words. “M-Mr Graves – Percival, I…”_

_Credence cleared his throat, flushing. He glanced back up at the older man, who only nodded encouragingly._

_Feeling braver, Credence continued._

_“You s-see, um… I-I like you too.”_

_Credence went completely red then, using his free hand to hide his face. He heard Percival chuckle and lowered his head in shame, but when the older man reached out to gently pry Credence’s fingers away from his eyes, he could see in Percival’s gaze that the man meant no malice or disdain at all._

_Percival smiled fondly at him. He reached out again to give Credence’s hair a little ruffle._

_“Oh, my boy,” he grinned, and then, before Credence could even digest the affectionate title, Mr Graves had raised the boy’s hand, still wrapped around his, and kissed it._

_*_

_Several minutes later, Mary Lou seemed disappointed that Credence had no pamphlets left, and that he had arrived home in time for dinner, but she let him into the building without much comment._

_The soup was awful, as per usual, although Credence tried to make it better for Modesty by offering her what little he had of diced carrot. He found he was still relatively full from the hearty lunch, anyhow._

_That night, it wasn’t the small bed and lumpy mattress that left Credence restless, but a small thought pressing on his brain. He lay awake for several minutes, trying desperately and failing to retrieve the thought so he could sleep in peace._

_It was when he’d pretty much given up that he realized–_

_His hand didn’t hurt._

_It hadn’t hurt since he’d left the diner._

_Credence held his hand to his face, struggling to see the scars in the weak moonlight drifting in through the window._

_They were still there, he could eventually tell, but seemed somehow to have healed almost completely in the few hours between then and the present._

_Credence frowned, tracing his fingers lightly over the faded pink marks. Instead of pain, he felt only the gentle tickling sensation that came with running one’s fingers over his or her palms or the undersides of one’s feet._

_Realizing he couldn’t fathom a logical explanation, Credence decided not to give the affair much more thought, instead letting his thoughts drift to the ever-charming Percival Graves._

_Credence smiled to himself, happiness surging through his being, feeling as though someone had lit a candle in his heart._

_He had a friend, a friend! In his small world of threadbare clothing, religious propaganda and conditional abuse, he’d found light in the darkness. He’d found a friend._

_“I have a friend,” he whispered, covering his mouth to muffle his glee._

_“I have a friend.”_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! New chapter!

Of course, Credence couldn’t actually play out the memories in his head in such detail. The time he’d spent with Percival, before he became different, was long gone. Sometimes, Credence even found himself wondering if it had ever happened at all.

All he really had now were the memories, bitter and obscure as they were.

Sometimes, just sometimes, Credence tried to remember them fondly, when he had no other warmth to turn during the coldest and loneliest nights.

But most times, they haunted him, stealing into his dreams at night and flashing through his mind during the day, reminding him painfully of the long-lost time when he’d been happy and hopeful and in love, each memory another stab to his already broken heart.

Credence held his head in his hands, hiding his eyes from the stranger. He didn’t want to cry now, not in front of someone he didn’t know, especially not when that someone was showing him the same selfless kindness he’d completely forgotten existed.

So kind, and not asking for a thing in return. Could people like that still really exist in the world? Could Credence dare to imagine, just a little, of the possibility of home?

He’d been running for so long.

All he wanted was a friend.

Credence’s efforts proved to be futile then, the young man ashamed to find himself beginning to cry.

He bit the inside of his cheek hard, muffling any sound that might provoke a slap or words of scolding from the man in the kitchen. He turned his face to the open window, hoping the fresh morning air would do quick to dry his tears.

When Abel approached the table a few minutes later, meaning to set up their meal and finding the boy huddled up in his chair like a wounded puppy; he had to take a moment to think.

It was obvious he was scared. It was obvious he didn’t trust Abel all that much.

It was also very obvious that he’d been crying.

He recognized the boy’s fearful behavior all too well, Sara having acted the same way for quite some time, even after Bea had taken the two in with open arms.

If he was right in his assumptions, that this boy had been abused in some way, than really… they were more alike than one would think.

Perhaps it had been no coincidence that Abel had found him in that alley, the man thought on a whim. Perhaps fate had brought them together, in a way…

Abel looked back down at the boy, whom of which had been gazing up at him but now quickly turned away, chewing on his pretty pink lips.

Abel, wondering how he could stop the boy’s assault on such perfect lips without frightening him, sat down, far enough away that he couldn’t immediately touch the boy without having to reach over, and still close enough to maintain some form of comfort.

Unacceptable, he thought. Such an attractive boy didn’t deserve to be so anxious. He was so pretty; how could anyone have hurt him in such a way that he now seemed so fearful?

Unless…

Abel felt his thoughts drift to Sara, wondering if she could also relate to the young boy in the abuse she’d endured, but didn’t ponder on the subject for too long. He didn’t want to seem sad or troubled in front of his guest, who right now needed his full attention and hospitality.

The boy had turned his own attention to the items Abel had set down on the table: a stack of pancakes on a plate, two steaming mugs of Abel’s infamous hot chocolate, more plates, cutlery, and various spreads.

“Here,” Abel slid a few pancakes onto a small plate, and set it in front of the boy, smiling. “If you finish and want more, you can have as many as you like.”

The boy seemed surprised again, but Abel was pleased to see that this time he didn’t gape at him like a fish. Instead, after a moment, he gave a little nod and began to daintily pick at his meal.

A few moments later, Abel realized he was still staring at the boy and quickly turned to his own food. He took the jar of honey, dipping in a spoon and drizzling the stuff over his pancakes.

Credence stared, transfixed. He’d never seen such a thing as what was now dripping from the nice man’s spoon, but he decided immediately that he liked it tremendously. It shone in the light like the early morning sunshine, now bottled and capped. It looked like coins of gold and brass had been molten down and made edible.

Credence couldn’t really describe the smell, not finding anything to relate it to, but he liked it all the same.

Once the nice man had dropped the spoon back into the jar, Credence found himself reaching for it immediately, eager to try out this odd new treat. If the nice man was eating it, than surely it mustn’t taste bad at all.

Abel grinned at the boy, surprised but glad at his sudden small confidence. “Go ahead,” he said, in case the boy needed some further reassurance. “It’s delicious, trust me.”

The boy shot him the quickest glance before averting his eyes once more, but he nodded, and then the corner of his mouth twitched, just a little.

Abel beamed, once again having to resist the temptation to reach over and pinch the boy’s cheek.

So darn cute.

The boy’s first bite of his honey-spread pancake, Abel wished he had been able to document in some way; the way the boy’s eyes widened slightly, the soft hum of pleasure that left his throat. Abel found his childlike behaviour to be utterly endearing, and now also felt an urge to embrace the boy and kiss his forehead.

Soon, he promised himself. Soon enough, he going to help this boy going to overcome his fear and distrust. Perhaps, even, he could also learn to see Abel as a friend and not simply a generous stranger.

Abel knew he seemed fanciful. Less than twelve hours he’d known the boy, and yet now he was even going as far to imagine the beginnings of a future together.

He couldn’t help it, he thought with a chuckle. He was ridiculously attracted to the boy before him, had been since he’d seen his human form for the first time the previous night, and he rarely found it favourable to find those he liked to be unhappy.

Not that he believed it customary for one to act blissful and content at all times of the day, to never seem off or morose. No, there were times for happiness and times for sadness, times for patience and times for rage, for love and for regret. Still, it was never pleasing to find that someone he cared about felt despondent or miserable.

“So,” Abel spoke up, trying to seem smooth. “Does my new companion have a name?”

The boy stopped, fork halfway to his mouth, though his eyes remained on his plate.

Abel could sense his tension.

“My name’s Abraham, if you didn’t catch it earlier,” he continued cheerfully, hoping his openness would relax the boy. “Abraham Fried, though most who know me call me Abel.”

The boy still wouldn’t meet Abel’s eyes.

“Of course, if you feel uncomfortable telling me your name, that is perfectly fine,” he said reassuringly. “After all, we’re practically strangers.”

Credence swallowed. He _did_ find himself to be fairly uncomfortable at the man’s question, nice as he was, but the small jolt of fear he’d felt only a moment before had disappeared.

Credence bit his lip. The stranger before him had been nothing but kind since he’d approached him in the alley the previous, even going so far to offer him food and board without asking for as little as a “thank you” in return. With the way Credence was acting however, silent and sullen, who knows how long it would be before the man became impatient, violent even?

All he was asking for was a name. That wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t like it was Credence’s own soul (if he still had one) that he desired.

But Credence’s name had history. Say the man – Abel, he called himself – decided to do a little digging and found out about his family, about what he’d done? Say he decided to turn Credence back into the streets? It was far more than he could bear, the vulnerable young man thought, to find yet another promise of home and promptly lose it as he had before.

So Credence shook his head; that of which Abel knew meant “no”.

Abel repressed a sigh, not wanting to seem impatient. Disappointed, yes he was, but he knew it was best not to push the boy to his limits. Just because he’d always been trustful and optimistic, having never found it very hard to adapt to life after escaping slavery, didn’t mean that others in similar positions could amend themselves so easily.

“That’s quite alright,” he said honestly, smiling at the boy. “I believe I might understand your caution, and in no way do I intend to seem assertive or impatient.

“I, um… I like you,” Abel added, thankful that his dark skin could more or less hide his blush. “I want you to feel comfortable here, with me. I want you to feel safe. But if by any chance you do feel uncomfortable or unsafe, you can let me know at any time. I won’t be mad.”

The boy glanced up at Abel then, frowning slightly. Abel had a feeling he’d never heard that before, and was still a little wary to trust his words.

“When I followed you into the alley last night, I honestly had no idea of what I was getting myself into, or that I would be soon inviting you into my home,” Abel half-chuckled. “I can’t help it, sometimes I do find myself to be a little impulsive in my actions.

“However, reckless as I might have seemed, I certainly didn’t take you in with the intentions of forcing you back out into the streets. I do like you, young man, and rarely has my gut been wrong when it comes to first impressions.”

He winked at the boy.

The boy flushed, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

Abel, grinning, continued.

“And so, I do believe that it… it was no coincidence that it was I who found you. I feel like I can relate to you, and I feel that my friends can too. I know I was right to take you in, and furthermore, I believe that there’s no better place for you in the whole of New York than right here in this apartment… right here with me.”

Abel sat back, realizing he’d been leaning forward in his seat. He took a breath, honestly a little surprised at his sudden speech.

He tutted at himself. He’d always been such a chatterbox.

He glanced over at the boy.

The boy in question was no longer hunched over his meal, instead sitting up straighter than Abel had ever seen him, and his eyes made full contact with Abel's own. His wary look had completely vanished, having been replaced with what Abel could only describe as awe.

Abel felt himself flush again, and was once again grateful for his dark skin. He liked to think of himself as a confident man, especially around attractive young men such as the one before him.

Not too confident, of course. He aimed to charm, not to intimidate.

He smiled at his new companion, and was then very pleased when the boy smiled back after only a moment’s hesitation.

Unfortunately, it seemed as though he was still reluctant to speak at all, let alone to tell Abel his name. Abel, not at all unfamiliar with what Bea had called “zelective mootism”, knew now how to handle such matters. He rose from the table then, and disappeared into the living room, quickly reappearing with a notebook and pencils.

“If you don’t want to speak, or if you can’t speak at all, that’s honestly not a problem,” he said kindly, setting the items in front of the boy as he sat down. “My friend Sara, who lives here with me, hasn’t spoken in almost two months. My other friend Beatrice, who also lives here, knows how to handle such matters. We both do.”

The boy’s eyes had widened at the almost offhand comment, but he relaxed again as Abel continued to speak.

(Abel knew he might have seemed a bit insincere in his terse confession, but he didn’t feel it was right for him to openly discuss Sara’s past trauma and its consequences in front of technically a stranger, particularly considering Sara herself was not part of the current conversation.)

“So, whatever you’d like to say, you can write down here,” Abel continued, tapping the notepad. “If that doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable, of course.”

The boy nodded in understanding, pleasing Abel then by maintaining full eye contact.

 _It doesn’t_ , he wrote then. _I understand. Thank you sir._

“That’s quite alright,” Abel refrained from reaching out and patting the boy’s shoulder. “It’s only necessary that we have some way of communication.

“Now… a name…” Abel tapped his lip thoughtfully. He respected that the boy felt uncomfortable in revealing his personal details, but Abel still found the idea of referring to him solely as “the boy” quite undesirable.

He noticed the boy tense.

See? So vague. So informal.

“Oh no,” Abel backpedalled. “I mean not to force your name from your lips. I simply don’t wish to have to refer to you merely as ‘boy’, or ‘young man’, or the like.

“Is there anything I could call you?” He asked gently. “A favourite book character? A childhood nickname? Anything that springs to mind?”

Credence bit his lip, pondering Abel’s request.

The only books Ma had allowed in the church were that of religion; the bible, storybooks featuring tales from the bible, adaptations of religious art, that sort of thing.

He had a feeling he couldn’t ask the man to refer to him as Jesus.

David, maybe, or Michael could fit, but Credence also didn’t want to choose a name that he associated with the church.

Abel, realizing the boy seemed a bit lost, lifted his gaze to look around the room. Perhaps the boy wouldn’t object to Abel making a few suggestions as to what he could be called.

His bookshelf stood by the wall opposite the table. Abel squinted, peering at the titles, and his eyes quickly fell upon his Charles Dickens collection.

“How about, hmm… Oliver?” Abel asked, looking back at the boy.

The boy lifted his gaze, looking thoughtful, but then shook his head.

Abel chuckled. “Well then, how about Charles? Or, or…”

He caught sight of another author.

“Leo?”

The boy thought for another moment, but then again shook his head.

Abel raised his brows, amused. He turned back to the shelf, where a large black book immediately caught his eye.

He chuckled again. “What about Dorian?” He joked. “A rather spicy name, wouldn’t you think?”

The corner of the boy’s mouth twitched, and he gave a little hum in response, but once more shook his head.

Abel, feeling determined now, kept going. “Well, what about Oscar, after Oscar Wilde?”

Noticing how this piqued the boy’s interest, he grinned. “Oscar Wilde was an author and playwright,” he explained. “A fabulous man, truly. I’ve always looked up to him.”

The boy gave a small nod, and then he nodded a little harder.

 _I like it_ , he wrote. _If you would like to refer to me with that name, I wouldn’t mind._

Abel nodded, pleased.

“Very well then,” he grinned. “Oscar it is.”

This time, without hesitation, Credence found himself smiling back.


	6. Chapter 6

The day passed in a blur for the two men, and before Abel knew it, it was almost time for his friends to arrive home.

He sent Oscar to go wait in the bedroom when they returned, giving him time to briefly explain their situation (of course leaving out the part that the boy had manifested from a whirling mass of darkness).

Sara seemed interested. While she certainly wasn’t as trusting of other people as Abel, she trusted his judgement at least, and told him she’d be happy to meet his new companion.

Beatrice, however, almost fumed (as he’d expected).

“Abel!” She raised her voice, seeming astonished that Abel could even think of asking such a thing. “Ve live in a box, vith hardly any room for the tree ov us alone, und you ixpect me to allow zombody elze to live here? Nein, I vill not allow it!”

“Bea, please,” Abel tried to negotiate. “Yes, our apartment is small, but you know, you and Sara share a room. My friend and I could do the same – my bed’s big enough. Or I could just sleep on the couch like last night–“

Abel stopped, wincing when he’d realized what he’d said.

It wasn’t long before Beatrice did too.

“HE’S BEEN HERE ZINCE LAST NIGHT?”

Abel winced again.

“YOU ARE ZAYING YOU BROUGHT A STRANGER HOME WITHOUT ME KNOWING? VOT, DID YOU HIDE HIM IN YOUR ROOM LIKE ZOM COMMON CRIMINAL?

Bea’s eyes darted to Abel’s bedroom door.

“IZ HE IN THERE NOW?” Before Abel could stop her, she’d strode over to the door and grabbed the handle.

Abel gasped.

It didn’t turn.

Abel relaxed.

Oscar had locked the door.

Abel gulped. He’d meant for his home to be a safe place for the boy. If he’d locked the door, he obviously wasn’t feeling very safe.

Speaking of unsafe…

Abel glanced towards Sara, who was now sitting at the table, hands clasped together.

She’d never fared well with conflict, or shouting in general, but while she looked a little uncomfortable now, she didn’t seem altogether anxious or tense.

She and Abel were opposites in that way, one could say. While loud and sudden noises frightened her, Abel himself found comfort in the sounds. He himself found the quiet most troubling.

Beatrice had given up on rapping at the door, and had returned to stand in front of Abel, arms crossed.

She noticed Sara’s expression then, and softened, her annoyed expression turning apologetic.

“I am sorry, Sara,” she said shortly. “I let my temper get ze best ov me, und for zat I am sorry.”

Sara smiled at her, reaching out to pat Bea’s hand.

They were different in that way too, Sara and Abel. Despite her abuse, Sara was rather open to touch; hand holding, hugs, friendly kisses.

Abel, on the other hand, had trouble with physical communication. While he too found hugs and hand holding to be comforting, unless he initiated the contact himself, which was rare, it often left him feeling highly uncomfortable, sometimes even violated.

He hadn’t felt that around Oscar, he realized suddenly. From the moment he’d met the boy, even back when he’d been a sentient black cloud, he'd never felt reason to fear Oscar or his touch. He’d even felt the desire to touch the boy himself, on multiple occasions.

Abel realized Bea was speaking again, and shook himself out of his thoughts.

“…come out?”

She looked at him expectedly.

“Pardon?” Abel suppressed an embarrassed chuckle.

Beatrice rolled her eyes impatiently. “Vill you ask him to come out?” She repeated. “I vant to meet him.”

Abel sighed. “I don’t think he’s going to want to,” he said cockily. “Not after hearing you shout down the house like a madman.”

Beatrice narrowed her eyes at him. “Vell then,” she said with a sneer, “Vot do you suggest ve do?”

Though Abel, being the little shit that he was, did enjoy riling up his older friend, he knew now wasn’t the time to make Beatrice angry. Technically, she owned the apartment, and had every right to pick and choose who stayed and who left as she pleased.

“Come,” Abel indicated the chair next to Sara’s. “Let’s discuss matters.”

The two “discussed matters” for a while, Abel listing the pros of an addition to their little family, while Bea herself, a realist, focused rather on the many disadvantages that could come with adding a new member to their already quite cramped household.

“There iz not enough room.”

“He can stay in my room.”

“Vell, ver vill you sleep?”

“On the couch?”

“The couch iz far too small.”

“Then I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then I’ll a buy a new bed, and sleep on that.”

“Vith vot money?”

“I’ll ask for a raise.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then I’ll…" Abel blushed, about to have said: “I’ll sleep with him.”

Bea raised her eyebrows. “You’ll vot?” She asked, seeming amused.

“I’ll… I’ll think of something,”

“Vell, vot about money? You’re ze best paid out ov all ov us, und still ve struggle.”

“I’ll ask for another raise.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Jacob won’t mind.”

“Kovalski does not live here. You cannot depend on him to pay our bills.”

“Then I’ll find Oscar a job. Perhaps… perhaps he could work at the bakery, with me.” Abel smiled at the idea.

“Oscar? Iz dat his name?”

Abel hesitated. “Well, no… he didn’t want to give me his real name, so I’m calling him Oscar.”

“Und how are you supposed to know he iz not a rabid psychopath?”

“He isn’t.”

“How do you know?” Beatrice tapped her foot impatiently.

“I..." Abel hesitated again, grinning sheepishly. "I just do.”

Beatrice sighed in frustration.

“Vy Oscar?” She asked.

“Oh, um…” Abel chuckled, embarrassed. “You know, like Oscar Wilde?”

“Oscar Vilde?” Beatrice raised her brows at him, before rolling her eyes. She chuckled herself, amused. “Of course _you_  vood call him that.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Abel laughed.

Beatrice turned serious again. “Ze answer iz still no, Abel.”

Abel sighed. “Bea…”

“Abel.”

“Please, Bea, he’s got nowhere else to go. I know our space is little, but I promise he’s not going to cause any problems. Really, the only issue here is food and sleeping arrangements, but I’ll take care of that. I can find him a job, and I’ll just sleep on the couch until I can afford something else. Please, I promise I’ll take care of everything."

“Hmm…” Beatrice, though she still looked like she was trying to mentally shoot daggers into his chest, didn’t seem as angry as before. Abel suppressed a smile, not wanting to spoil the fact that he was totally getting through to her.

“Look," he continued, "I know this will sound outrageously odd, but I really think I was meant to find him yesterday. I think that something brought us together. And I think he could be good for us. He also chooses not to speak, Sara,” he turned to his other friend, who perked up in interest at the new piece of information.

“I think…” Abel lowered his voice. “I think he may have been suffered the same abuse we went through, if not similar. And again, I think it was no coincidence that it was I who found him, considering how we can relate to each other. I think he’d be good for us, and us for him. Please, Bea, let him stay, if only for a little while. Come on, help a guy out.”

“And vot is dat supposed to mean?” Bea cocked her eyebrows.

Abel winked at her.

Sara chuckled.

Beatrice sighed in exasperation. God be damned, she felt too tired to deal with so much bullshit so late in the day.

”Beatrice, please?” Abel smiled at her.

Beatrice narrowed her eyes at him, but when she turned to Sara, who had the very same expression on her face, she sighed again.

“Fine,” she gave in.

Abel exhaled, feeling as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He laughed, relieved and ecstatic and excited all at once.

“Thank you!” he cried. “My God, thank you.”

He felt pleased enough to kiss her, but instead rose from his chair, and headed over to his bedroom.

Beatrice slumped slightly in her chair, pinching the bridge of her nose. Sure, Sara was fine to deal with, but she wouldn’t be surprised if most (if not all) of her recent bout of grey hairs had Abel’s smirking face at their roots.

Sara smiled at her friend. Sensing her obvious frustration, she wrapped a comforting arm around the older woman, and gave her a friendly kiss.

 _You did the right thing_ , she wrote.

Bea's lip twitched.

Abel stopped before his door, and lifted his hand to rap on it gently.

“Hello?” Abel could barely contain his glee. “Oscar, are you there?”

There was no response.

“We’ve discussed matters,” he said through the door. “Bea’s come around, you can stay. For as long as you like.”

There was still no response.

Abel’s smile slipped, just a little, but then he realized what might be troubling his new friend.

“No one is going to hurt you here, or get angry for no reason,” he said comfortingly. “While Bea sometimes can let her temper get the best of her, she definitely has no intentions of harming you in any way. None of us do.”

Abel rested his hand on the door.

“Will you come out?” He asked, wishing then he could see his friend on the other side. “I’d like to see you.”

A few moments passed, but then Abel heard the lock click, and then the knob turned.

Oscar opened the door slowly, peering up at Abel cautiously.

“Hi there,” Abel smiled kindly at his friend. “How are you doing?”

Oscar gave him a small smile in return, straightening up a little from his hunched stance.

“Would you like to come out?” Abel asked gently, offering his hand to the boy. “My friends would like to meet you.”

Oscar bit his lip, looking a little frightened then.

“Hey, it’s okay,” before Abel could stop himself, he’d reached forward to touch the boy’s hand. The boy started slightly, but he didn’t flinch away from the contact.

And neither did Abel.

“My friends are very kind,” Abel said reassuringly. “No one here has any intentions of causing you harm. Sara especially is very eager to meet you.

“Will you come out?”

Another moment passed, and then the boy nodded again. He lifted his hand, slipping it completely into Abel’s.

“Okay,” Abel stepped back gently, guiding the boy out into the room, and then through the doorway.

Beatrice immediately rose from her chair, eyes widening. Beatrice was a tall woman, so the effect this had was almost intimidating.

Abel felt his friend’s hand tighten around his.

“You…” she stopped, eyes darting to Abel before returning to gaze upon the boy. “You’re only a child?”

Abel frowned, wondering what she’d been about to say.

Sara stood also, and walked around her friend to approach the boy.

She raised her hand in greeting, smiling kindly.

Oscar nodded at her, raising his own hand slightly before dropping it again.

“This is Sara,” Abel introduced his friend to the boy. “And Sara, this is Oscar.”

Sara smiled at Oscar.

Oscar smiled shyly back.

“And that over there is Beatrice,” Abel, suppressing a sudden unexpected pang of jealousy, indicated the tall woman still staring at the boy like she’d seen a ghost. “She doesn’t usually gape like that at attractive young men such as yourself, but pay her no mind.”

Sara chuckled.

Abel realized what he’d said and blushed.

He glanced at Oscar, who was now also blushing.

Beatrice cleared her throat.

“Right, yes,” she stepped forward a little, still keeping her distance. “It iz a pleasure to meet you, Oscar, und velcome to our home.”

Oscar eyed Beatrice warily, but then he nodded at her before averting his gaze.

“Wonderful!” Abel was pleased to see they’d all gotten on well, and he gave Oscar’s hand a friendly squeeze before letting go. “Now, who wants dinner?”

Sara raised her hand.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get a deeper look into Sara's character, as well as hints to her backstory. ;) Also feels. Also angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way I nearly self combusted when I typed the last sentence.

Beatrice retired almost immediately to her room that evening, claiming she was too tired even for dinner. Abel, not thinking much of it, busied himself in the kitchen.

He’d prepared a simple broth and salad for their lunch that day, seeing as how Oscar had seemed rather queasy once they’d finished breakfast. He decided leftovers would suffice, and set to work reheating the rest of the chilled soup over the stove.

Sara scoffed at the salad, and set to work herself, preparing sandwiches to go with her soup.

Credence sat patiently at the table, hands folded neatly in his lap. He glanced curiously around the room, studying his surroundings.

In the church, while the kitchen was a little cramped, the dining room had been very big, and had also been used for his ma’s religious sermons, for the kids to study, and for all of them to say their daily prayers.

Here, in the apartment, the kitchen and the dining area had been converted into one, packed almost to the brim with the icebox and the cupboards and the shelves and the little sink and the bench that ran almost completely along one wall, and the crockery cabinet and bookshelf (???) next to the table that was just a little too small to dine comfortably.

The wide doorway (where there was no door) allowed him to see into the lounge room, which was undeniably the largest room in the whole of the apartment but still seemed a little too small, as it was also packed to the brim, what with the fireplace and the two faded armchairs and more bookshelves and cabinets, and the coffee table, and the sofa where Abel must’ve slept last night, Credence thought with a slight wince.

Abel himself was rather tall, a little taller than Credence, and the sofa looked too small even for… Sara, who was a good deal shorter than them all.

Even Abel’s bedroom, which he’d stayed in last night, barely getting a wink of sleep due to his mixed feelings of fear and excitement, had only one person staying in it and still then it, like the rest of the apartment, was just a bit too small.

In short, the apartment was small, far too small anyway for three people to fit comfortably.

Credence wondered how they’d all come to live in one place. From what he’d seen, it was the scary woman – Beatrice, who ran the show around here, but it didn’t seem as though she objected to having three people live in an apartment really only fit for one.

Now four…

Credence bit his lip, trying to swallow his feelings of guilt.

He glanced back at the pair in the kitchen, eyes focusing on Abel. The tall, pudgy man was humming, ladling the same broth they’d had for lunch into three small bowls. His friend, Sara, looked very similar to him, with the same brown skin and pudgy frame and kind dark eyes, eyes that brightened when she smiled at him as she set the plate of sandwiches on the table.

Credence managed a small smile back.

He lowered his eyes respectfully as she slid into her seat. Abel joined them a moment later, setting down bowls and cutlery.

He set his own bowl down a little too hard, and Credence jumped.

So did Sara.

Credence glanced at her curiously.

Abel, looking embarrassed, sat down silently, in the chair opposite Credence’s.

“Apologies,” he said softly, reaching over to pat Sara’s shoulder gently. She smiled at him, patting his hand in reply.

Credence waited until they’d both started eating before turning to his own meal.

Abel had added chopped vegetables to the broth, and strips of chicken, and so it was still fairly light but a little more filling than their lunch. Credence found the broth didn’t taste as good as it had that afternoon, seeing as how it had been chilled and heated up again, but he kept his expression neutral, not wanting to seem rude or ungrateful.

He felt guilty then, again. How dare he even think to complain! They’d been so kind to him, letting him into their home, (extremely) cramped as it was already, not even seeming to think to ask for one thing in return. Abel had rescued him, cooked for him, even given up his own room for him.

He wanted, felt he needed almost, to do something in return, just a little something, to show his appreciation and gratitude.

“How’s the soup?” Abel asked him then, setting down his spoon. He lifted his elbows up onto the table, resting his head on his hands as he smiled at Credence.

Credence raised his eyebrows. He glanced at Sara, expecting her to give Abel a smack for his rude posture. After a few moments of Sara doing nothing but slurping at her soup noisily, something Credence had also expected Abel to give her a smack for, he turned back to the man.

His notepad and pen he’d left on the chair beside him, and were still there now. He gathered them up in his hands, quickly writing a reply.

 _Very good_ , he wrote truthfully.

Abel grinned at him when he saw it.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said, looking pleased. “And if you’re not too full after dinner, we have apples, berries, some more of those leftover muffins from this morning. You liked them, didn’t you? Pfft, of course you did, I made them.”

Credence suppressed a giggle.

Sara snorted.

Abel winked at Credence.

Credence blushed. He turned away, trying to hide his little smile.

Sara glanced at Abel, eyebrows raised. He didn’t notice; he was too busy ogling the young man sitting across from him.

She raised her eyebrows further.

Sara knew her friend was a homosexual man, and so did Beatrice. Beatrice had barely batted an eyelash when they'd told her; she herself was actually bisexual. It wasn’t a problem at all.

The problem was that Abel was a hopeless romantic, falling in love with pretty much every man that showed him the slightest kindness. Just yesterday morning he’d been swooning about the nice man he’d met at the grocery store the previous night.

It seemed as though the same had happened here, with their guest, a guest who was most likely as gay as a newspaper (as in, he most likely wasn’t gay at all), and she knew Abel was once again setting himself up for heartbreak.

His heart was too soft. He was too trusting. Every morning he walked out the door believing that day was the day he was going to meet his true love and each night he returned home as alone as before, and yet still so optimistic? She didn’t know how he did it, how he had so much strength to repeat the same routine, day after day, with the seemingly endless good cheer.

Sara herself was quite negative, she had to admit. She was kind, yes, but the years of abuse had caused her to build a metaphorical wall around herself. Abel and Beatrice were the only people she’d ever allowed in her life to get truly close to her; Abel because they’d grown up together, fought the same battles together, and were still learning how to heal together. Beatrice she loved because she’d saved them from their lives, had taken them in and promised them both that they would never have to suffer the way they had ever again.

She’d been wrong, of course, but Sara wasn’t bitter. It wasn’t Beatrice that had…

Well, that’s a story for another chapter.

Once they’d all finished their meals, Abel rose to start clearing the table, but then Credence, having planned this for the past few minutes, beat him to it.

He quickly gathered up the plates and cutlery, rushing over to the sink with the means of cleaning everything up for his new friends. He set to work immediately, gathering soap and a sponge and turning on the hot water. Abel and Sara watched the boy go, a little surprised, but pleased all the same.

They glanced at each other, eyebrows raised.

“Maybe… maybe it was his chore, wherever he came from," Abel suggested, shrugging. “Or maybe he’s just doing it to be nice, as a way of thanking us?”

Sara shrugged back.

Meanwhile, Credence had removed his jacket, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, not wanting to get his clothes wet. He quickly went back to work, innocently oblivious to the effect the simple actions had on his new friend.

Abel’s eyes bulged at the sight, and he swallowed, quickly leaving the room to regain his composure.

Sara rolled her eyes, chuckling.

She walked over to Oscar, meaning herself to help him wash up.

Credence, invested in his task, didn’t notice her walk up to him, and when he looked up he jumped.

Sara smiled at him, giving his shoulder a little squeeze. He tensed at how close she was, moving to the side to put a more comfortable space between them, but he relaxed a little when she fixed her attention on the work at hand.

Credence washed quickly, trying to ignore the way the soap stung his hands. Sara dried the clean dishes with a cloth and put them away.

The stinging pains caused his hands to shake quite terribly, and as he was handing her the last plate, he dropped it.

It bounced off the edge of the sink, and in mute terror Credence watched as it fell to the floor, thus breaking into several pieces upon collision.

Sara suppressed a sigh. That had been one of her favorite plates, with the little blue birds and flowers. But no matter, she thought then, remembering Beatrice's miracle knack for effortlessly fixing things that had been broken.

She gave Oscar a look of apology, thinking perhaps her closeness had distracted him, and then she patted his arm comfortingly before kneeling down to pick up the larger pieces. No fuss, no fuss, she thought.

Dimly aware of the position she was in, on her knees in front of a man, she furrowed her brows, traces of unpleasant memories surfacing in the back of her mind. She hummed a little tune to distract herself, shaking away the intrusive thoughts, and focused on the task at hand.

Abel, sitting on the couch in the next room, had still been trying to get over how good that boy had looked with his sleeves rolled up when he heard the commotion. He popped his head back into the kitchen, and, seeing what had happened, immediately stepped over to Oscar when he saw how upset his new friend looked.

Up close, he could hear Oscar’s shaky breaths, see the tears that prickled in his eyes. Abel touched his arm lightly, guiding him away from the mess over to the other end of the kitchen.

“It’s alright,” he tried to reassure the panicking boy, giving his arm a gentle squeeze before dropping his hand. “Oscar, Oscar? It’s okay. You don’t have to worry, it’s fine. It was only an accident.”

Credence shuddered under Abel's touch. He barely heard a word from the man's lips, focusing instead on trying to contain his frightened tears. He’d ruined everything. All he’d wanted to do was give back just a smidge of what they’d given him, and now he had wrecked everything. They would throw him away now, just like he’d always been thrown away. Why did he think he could have ever belonged?

He could feel Abel's eyes on him, but he found he couldn't lift his gaze to meet them..

He looked down instead, shuddering and gasping, trying to breathe.

He couldn’t do that either.

There was a lump in his throat, and he couldn’t push it down and it hurt to try. He shut his mouth, clapping his hand over it, but the sobs still managed to escape him. His chest heaved, his shoulders shook. He held his hand tighter over his mouth, trying to silence the sounds.

He didn’t want his new friend to hit him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the tears.

He didn’t want Abel to hit him.

But he knew that was what had to be done.

He had to be punished for his mistakes, for his carelessness. Only then would he learn.

He lowered his hand, reaching down to unbuckle his belt.

It wasn’t there.

He looked down in surprise, patting along his trousers. Where was it?

He thought back, poring through his memories, and then quickly he realized he hadn’t had it since he’d forced it from his ma’s hand, that terrible day not so long ago.

Credence swallowed, his thoughts drifting back to an earlier time.

She hadn’t always used a belt.

His gaze lifted from the ground to the bench beside him, and then his hand reached forward to close around the object lying there next to the stove. Finally managing to choke down that horrendous lump, he coughed, and then he wiped his eyes and handed the object to the man in front of him, trying to seem calm and dignified.

If Abel was going to be the one to punish him, Credence didn’t want him to think that he hated him because of it.

I don’t hate you, he thought.

He hoped Abel could understand him somehow.

When Oscar handed him the long wooden spoon, still sticky with remnants of soup, at first Abel was confused.

He decided to take it, thinking perhaps that Oscar has decided to leave the washing to him and Sara, not wanting to risk breaking anything else.

But then the boy didn’t lower his hand, a hand still marred with faint scars, and Abel understood.

Oscar still wouldn’t meet his eyes, so Abel shot a quick glance towards Sara, still kneeling on the kitchen floor.

Sara herself had ceased in her task, having been distracted by the scene in front of her.

She met Abel’s eyes.

The look of horror on his face she was certain matched her own, and she knew it was for the same reason, the same memories coiling in the back of their minds.

She swallowed, torn between leaving the room to regain her composure or staying to see how the scene would unfold. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Abel. She knew without a doubt that her friend would never hurt a soul, much less someone as frightful and anxious as the boy before him.

But Oscar didn’t.

Oscar himself was shaking like a leaf, his hand held out like an offering. His head was lowered, his eyes fixed shut as he waited for Abel to hit him.

Sara felt like she going to scream.

The door behind her suddenly slammed shut and she cried out in fright. She whipped around, expecting for a fleeting moment to see a particular someone standing there with a whip in hand, but of course it was only Beatrice.

The tall woman looked enraged for but a moment, her expression quickly changing from angry to confused and then just a slight bit horrified when she processed the scene before her.

“VOT–“

She cut off when she Abel, shaking his head so quickly he seemed possessed. He raised a finger to his lips, indicating the frightened boy beside him.

Beatrice, mouth snapping shut, looked down towards Sara.

Sara was shaking quite visibly, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. When Beatrice saw this, she immediately stepped forward, crouching down before her friend to wrap her arms around her.

Sara clutched Beatrice tightly, hiding her face in her friend’s nightgown. Beatrice stroked her hair comfortingly, humming a little tune.

She looked pointedly at Abel.

“I’ll take care of this,” Abel said quietly, looking apologetic. “Just make sure she’s alright.”

Beatrice gave him a sharp nod, and then she helped Sara up and into their room, closing the door behind her.

Abel turned his attention back to his friend.

Oscar had been distracted by the sudden fuss. His gaze had drifted back up to see what was going on, and when Abel looked at him, dark eyes bore into his own.

Oscar wasn’t shaking quite as visibly as before, but his hand, still outstretched before Abel, trembled slightly.

He seemed confused, his head cocked a little to the side. Abel knew the boy was wondering why he hadn’t struck him yet.

Wordlessly, he held up the spoon.

Credence winced, waiting for the impact.

And then, pointedly, almost viciously, Abel tossed it aside; it clattered and bounced against the floor, coming to a stop just before the table.

The boy’s eyes followed the spoon, wide with shock and disbelief; his breath caught in his throat. He turned back to Abel, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes, his mouth hanging open in surprise.

Abel himself was panting, stricken with emotion and bitterness about the familiarity of the situation, and burning with anger that this boy, this sweet beautiful boy, had been abused as he had.

That alone was heartbreaking in itself, but now the boy had even expected the same abuse from Abel, and Abel felt furious and vengeful and heartbroken and grieved all at once, because he would never wish the torture he’d endured on even his worst enemies, much less this beautiful, beautiful boy so obviously broken it seemed he couldn’t even imagine a life without abuse, a life where kindness came without a price.

Abel loved him, he realized then.

He’d known Oscar only but a day, and already he’d fallen in love. The boy had uttered not one word to him, not even to tell him his name, and somehow Abel felt a connection between them, a bond that told him they’d been meant to find each other.

He reminded Abel so much of himself, a lost young man trying to find his way in the bitter, cruel world, a world that had broken him it seemed in the way it had broken Sara, in the way it had almost broken Abel.

Abel was stronger than him, he knew. Even during his darkest days, he’d had his Sara, and then their Beatrice. He’d known pain, but then he’d known freedom, and joy, and love and happiness and the knowledge that he never had to hurt, never had to feel afraid, again.

What had this boy known other than darkness?

What had he known other than the lifetime of abuse he must’ve endured, that had damaged him in such a way he would even expect it from a stranger?

What had he known other the destruction of his pride, his trust, and his dignity?

What had he known, other than the complete and utter humiliation it seemed had taken his voice the same way it had taken Sara’s?

Abel swallowed. He felt like he was going to cry himself.

He rested his hand on Oscar’s shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. With his other hand, he touched Oscar’s cheek, his thumb just brushing the corner of the boy’s sweet lips.

He needed to know life could be kind.

He needed to know people could be kind.

Oscar had frozen completely by then. When Abel touched his cheek, his eyes had drifted shut.

Abel stepped slightly forward, his hand drifting down from the boy’s shoulder to rest lightly on his hip.

He needed to know he was loved.

And then, before he could even register his actions, Abel had closed the minimal distance between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please like and comment :)
> 
> I'm thnks-fr-th-feels on Tumblr!


	8. Chapter 8

When Abel’s arms wrapped around him, Credence gasped.

He’d forgotten what it was like to be held in such a manner, so carefully and yet so intimately.

He’d forgotten that such gentle affection even existed.

Abel held him loosely, his form slightly awkward. He seemed inexperienced, Credence thought, when it came to such displays of affection.

Percival had been similar.

Not quite the same, but similar.

Percival had never really been one for outside acts of affection. Out in public; in restaurants, out on the street, at the various libraries he’d had taken Credence too after finding out (with much disdain) about his lack of education outside of religion and the church – Percival had often retained a sort of professional distance; barely more than comforting pats on the arm or shoulder. To people (familiar or strange) he met on the street, he was polite, but straightforward, not really one for idle chat either.

But Credence had known a softer side to him; a side that had been quick to invite Credence into his life, and soon after, his home.

The Percival he knew used to take his ruined hands and kiss the scars on his palms, (quite literally) willing away the pain. The Percival he knew had once even bought him gloves, very expensive soft leather gloves so his cuts wouldn’t sting during the cold or rain.

On the cold days, even when Credence tried to hide his chattering teeth and shaking shoulders, Percival had never hesitated to remove his coat and throw it over the younger man’s shoulders.

Credence would of course hide his smile, burying his nose into the coat and breathing in Percival’s scent.

After a long day (for the both of them), the two had often liked to rest on Percival’s little couch, Percival with his herbal tea and Credence with some kind of sweet pastry the older man never hesitated to buy him when he seemed upset. He would let Credence rest his head in the older man’s lap, play with his hair and murmur fondly.

Sometimes he would read to Credence.

Sometimes Credence would read to him.

Sometimes he would hold Credence, the way Abel was holding him now – arms wrapped around his skinny frame, chin rested on Credence’s crown, enveloping Credence completely in his warmth.

He’d always been so warm.

Abel was different. Abel was cold, and his arms didn’t fit around him quite as perfectly as Percival’s had, but then Credence could feel Abel’s lips whispering into his hair, and it felt the same, and then his hand was massaging small circles into Credence’s upper back, and that felt the same, and then Credence was pulling away, almost ripping himself from Abel’s grasp, cowering back against the kitchen bench, glaring at Abel with wide eyes.

Because it was happening all again, wasn’t it? A handsome stranger had approached him, a smile on his face, promises of love and happiness on his lips – it was happening all again. He was going to be betrayed again, he was going to feel the pain again, he was going to end up loveless and alone again and he knew it was going to happen because if it had started the same surely it was going to end the same?

Credence swallowed. He bit his lip.

It was happening all over again.

But this time he was prepared.

 

Abel, at first, had been relieved when Oscar pulled out of his grasp. Though he did find himself unusually open with the boy when it came to displays of physical affection, there was only so much sudden closeness he could take before he became uncomfortable.

So when the boy pulled away, Abel released the breath he’d been holding, and he even smiled a little.

But then he looked back down at his friend, and his smile vanished.

Oscar was cowering away from him, shoulders shaking, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. He glared at Abel, seeming frightened and defiant and confused all once. His breath came in great, shuddering gasps.

The boy crouched down into the corner of the kitchen, now avoiding Abel’s eyes. He pressed himself against the cabinet door, and wrapped his arms around his skinny frame, seeming as if he was trying to take up as little space as possible.

“Oscar!” Abel crouched down to the boy’s level, shocked at his sudden standoffishness. He thought things had been going so well…

“Oscar, Oscar are you okay?” Abel lowered his voice soothingly. “What’s wrong?”

Oscar still wouldn’t meet his eyes; his face was now hidden in his knees.

Abel knew he was crying.

He sat back on his heels, cursing under his breath.

When Sara had stopped talking, it had been Beatrice who’d taken control of the situation. Yes, Abel and Sara had grown up together; they loved each other, they’d fought together, they’d survived together – but when Sara had needed Abel the most, he hadn’t been there.

He hadn’t known what to do.

Usually, they walked home from work together. Usually, they comforted each other, protected each other from the dangers the night held.

But he’d been sick that day.

Beatrice hadn’t been home that day.

And that night, she’d had to walk home alone.

Abel had stayed up well into the night, anxiously awaiting her return. He'd panicked. He'd worried. He'd fretted. He hadn't known where Beatrice was. He hadn't known if his sisters were safe.

When Sara finally returned to their little apartment, clothes and pride in shreds, her voice was gone.

And he hadn’t known what to do.

But this time he was prepared.

 

Credence looked up when he felt the hand on his knee.

Abel looked sad, but when he saw Credence was looking at him he smiled.

He gave Credence’s knee a little squeeze.

“Hi,” he said softly.

Credence stared at him.

Abel stared back.

For a moment, all was silent.

Abel looked away. He seemed to be thinking, hard.

For a few moments, Credence watched him, but then he too lowered his gaze.

His attention shifted to the hand on his leg.

Credence didn’t like to be touched. Touch meant a pinch, a slap, a beating with a belt. Touch meant pain. Touch meant abuse.

His mother had touched him, and her touch meant hatred.

Percival had touched him, but his touch had meant hope.

But then Percival had become Mister Graves, and when Mister Graves had touched him, his touch meant lies. His touch meant manipulation. His touch meant betrayal.

And now Abel was touching him too.

But he didn’t know what it meant yet.

Credence drew his legs in closer to his body. Abel’s arm stretched out with him for a moment, but then his hand slipped off Credence’s leg.

Credence exhaled slightly. He knew Abel was looking at him again, but he didn’t look back.

He heard Abel sigh.

“Oscar, there’s something I want to show you.”


	9. Chapter 9

Later that night, Credence couldn’t sleep.

He wasn’t sure why. He was very tired after the day he’d had, and he was very warm in the pyjamas Abel had insisted he wear, and he was also very comfortable, tucked up nice and snug in Abel’s bed.

But he couldn’t sleep.

He tossed and turned in the sheets, changing positions and directions. He lay still and closed his eyes. He opened his eyes again and stared at the ceiling. He turned on his side and gazed out the window.

Nothing.

So he thought instead.

Abel had left the curtains open before he left. Outside, the full moon shone, her gentle light flooding into the room.

Credence held up his hands. In the dim light, he could just make out the faint scars and cuts, marks that matched the ones on Abel’s arms and back, as the older man had shown him.

“Oscar, I want to show you something.”

Credence closed his eyes.

The comment had given Credence a sense of foreboding, as if something awful or tragic were about to unfold, and Abel asking Credence immediately afterwards to go wait in his room, while he finished cleaning up the dishes and broken plate, hadn’t eased his tension.

Credence touched his hands, tracing over the faint scars on his palms.

When Abel joined him in the bedroom a few minutes later, Credence had been sitting on the edge of the bed, watching the doorway like a hawk.

He hadn’t really been able to see into the kitchen from the bedroom. There was a wall in the way, and the doorway in the middle had only given him view of the dining table and the wall beyond. A few cabinets had also been visible, but he hadn’t been able to see the sink, and therefore hadn’t been able to see Abel.

Credence had glanced at the closet, half tempted to hide in it again.

Back at the church, after a particularly harsh beating, Credence had used to take to secluding himself in his own closet. It had given him a sense of comfort, the fact that he had a little place just for him, where he could sit and console himself and cry in peace.

This had been when he was very young, long before he’d met Percival, but the idea of some sense of childhood security had comforted Credence then. Alone in his closet, where no one knew where he was; he’d often felt a sense of protection from the harsh world beyond its doors.

After he’d met Percival, he hadn’t really needed to take such matters into his own hands. For a while, it was Percival himself who had opted to protect him.

_“You don’t have to feel afraid, Credence. Not while I’m here.”_

Of course, Percival hadn’t always been “here”. He hadn’t followed Credence around like an obedient puppy, ready to come to his beck and call. If anything, it was Credence who was the puppy, or, as Percival had once referred to him fondly, a “kindhearted cat”.

But he’d been there when Credence needed him. During his daily rounds, Percival would often meet him on the corner, sometimes accompanying him as he walked through the city; handing out pamphlets and brochures to the busybodies they passed on the street. More often than not, however, Percival would whisk him away to some fine underground establishment, one where the air was warm and the food was filling and where Percival could drink his whiskeys and beers and (quite often) vodkas in peace.

But they didn’t always go out to eat. Many of their outings included trips to the city's many libraries, where Percival had seemed to take it upon himself to educate Credence on matters outside of the church.

Of course, they couldn’t go out all that often. Percival was a busy man, and a very important figure in his workplace (that of which he refused to disclose), and Credence was rarely allowed out of his ma’s sight.

But the little time they spent together made it all worthwhile in the end. Percival was almost an angel in Credence’s mind’s eye, sent from above to liberate him from his not-quite life of fear and oppression. With Percival there, Credence knew he didn’t have to feel afraid. With Percival there, the abuse seemed a little more bearable, the streets seemed a little less cold, and he even began to look forward to his daily rounds.

With Percival there, Credence began to experience feelings he’d never even known existed, strange new feelings that seemed to blossom in his heart and radiate through his whole being. These feelings brought a spring to his step, a twitch to his lips, a twinkle to his eye.

Credence had panicked. He’d worried. He’d fretted. He’d read book after book, searching for the cure to the strange ailment that had afflicted him, leaving him feeling giddy and breathless and short of speech.

Finally, he found his answer, in the pages of none other than the late, great Jane Austen.

He wasn’t ill.

He’d suffered no ailment at all.

He’d fallen in love.

 

Credence had still been thinking about Percival when Abel had returned. Abel had smiled kindly at him, and he’d been speaking as he entered the room, but Credence couldn’t remember what it was that he’d said.

Because he’d closed the door behind him, and then he’d taken off his shirt, and Credence’s mind had went blank.

Scars, puffy and waxy and raised, littered Abel’s chest and arms. When Abel turned around, they were on his back too, almost every inch of cool brown skin marred by the horrible marks.

Credence had swallowed, averting his eyes. Abel, realizing he’d upset Credence, had quickly pulled his shirt back on.

He’d sat down next to Credence on the bed, a soft smile slipping back onto his kind face. He hadn’t touched him, something Credence was still grateful for.

“I’m not going to tell you where I got these,” Abel had said. “Not now, anyway.”

Credence had swallowed again, looking down.

Abel seemed to have noticed his discomfort, for he then said, “But if you don’t want me to, I won’t tell you. It’s difficult to talk about, anyway, as I’m sure you would understand.”

Credence had lifted his gaze at that. Abel had then smiled kindly at him.

“I was hoping my little speech at breakfast might have eased your discomfort, if not your general fears, but it seems I was wrong. That’s nothing to worry about, though. Really, it’s not surprising at all. It took me years to recover from the abuse I endured, and Sara… well, it’s not my place to discuss Sara, but I can tell you she herself has endured abuse she still has yet to recover from. Of course, I wouldn’t expect you to be fine and dandy with such a new environment after only little more than a day in our care.

“You have every right to feel awkward, to feel uncomfortable, to feel frightened even. You certainly seemed very frightened earlier. That little episode in the kitchen seems to have taken you back to another time.”

Credence had looked away then. He’d lowered his gaze to the ground, biting down on his lower lip.

Abel had cleared his throat.

“Apologies, my friend,” he’d said gently. “I didn’t mean to cause any discomfort.”

Credence had looked back up at him.

And then he’d reached out, pressing his hand gently against Abel’s back. Abel had gasped slightly, a short intake of breath so quiet Credence wasn’t sure whether he’d heard it at all.

Abel had looked uncomfortable, but he hadn’t pushed Credence’s hand away, and Credence had taken that as encouragement. Thinking back now, Credence felt slightly guilty that he’d touched his friend without permission. If it had happened to him, which it had, he wouldn’t have hesitated to pull away or brush him off.

But Abel hadn’t pulled away, and he didn’t seem like he would blatantly allow someone to touch him if he wasn’t okay with it. And while he hadn’t said: “yes, go ahead,” he hadn’t said: “no, please stop that,” either.

So Credence touched him.

Credence couldn’t see his scars, but he had still been able to feel them, through the thin material of Abel’s shirt. They’d felt similar to Credence’s, bumpy and puckered, but he’d had a feeling they hadn’t come from a belt.

Abel had closed his eyes when Credence touched him. Credence had felt his heart hammering through his skin.

“A whip,” he’d said then, his voice so low Credence could barely hear it. “It was a whip that did it.”

Credence had gasped slightly, lifting his head to stare at his friend. Abel had gazed back at him, looking solemn.

“I don’t know what you’ve been through,” Abel had murmured, lowering his eyes. “I don’t know what pain you’ve endured. I don’t know if you’ve been abandoned, or if you’ve run away. I don’t even know if you’re human.”

Abel took his hand then. His hands were mostly warmer than the rest of his body, but his fingers were freezing. His touch had sent chills down Credence’s spine.

Credence hadn’t pulled away.

“But I do know that I like you, Oscar. I really like you, and I hope you trust me enough to like me too. And the pain I went through, I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, least of all you, sweet boy…

“You don’t have to feel afraid, Oscar. Not while I’m here.”

 

Those words.

Percival had said those same words to Credence, so many times.

“My boy… Sweet, sweet boy…

“You don’t have to feel afraid.”

He’d made Credence feel safe.

He’d always been there when Credence needed him.

Credence needed him now.

He turned to the window, imagining wistfully that the older man would suddenly appear on the other side of the glass, as he’d often done when Credence still lived at the church.

Late at night, when Credence couldn’t sleep for the pains in his hands and chest, sometimes Percival would appear in his window. The two would sit together on the bed, Percival cradling Credence against his warm chest while he cried. The older man would take his hands and kiss the scars on his palms, soothing the stinging pains. He would hold Credence’s head and kiss the bruises on his cheeks, the tears from his eyes, the cuts on his lips.

Percival kissing him was everything.

Sometimes, Percival would stay with him, slipping beside him in his already too-small bed. He would hold Credence against him, arms slung around his slim waist. Credence would grip at the edges of his long coat, burying himself in Percival’s scent. He would press his ear to Percival’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Percival would kiss Credence’s forehead gently, murmuring soothing words and sweet nothings until the two fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Percival holding him was everything.

Other times, the older man would even take Credence to his own home, insisting he stay the night rather than spend the next few hours in “that godforsaken church”. The two would lie together in Percival’s bed, Credence nice and snug in a pair of Percival’s warm pyjamas, and they would talk softly or read to each other, or just lay quietly together until Credence fell asleep to the steady rhythm of Percival’s heart.

Sometimes Credence would kiss Percival, gentle, rapid kisses all over his face and down his neck and then over his chest, and then back up to meet his lips before darting away. This had amused the older man, and more often than not he would hold Credence against him when their lips met, laughing when Credence blushed red.

Sometimes, Percival would kiss him; long, languid kisses as they cuddled together on the couch; gentle kisses on the neck or forehead or cheek as Credence cried in his arms; rough, fervent kisses that left Credence breathless, knees weak and his heart pounding in his chest.

Percival was everything.

Credence rolled on his side. He closed his eyes, trying to blink away the sudden tears that had formed in his eyes.

Percival was gone, he reminded himself. Percival had turned his back on Credence, and it would do Credence no good whatsoever to keep dwelling on the past. He was gone, and he wasn’t coming back.

And then, alone in a strange room, in a strange bed, surrounded by the all-too-familiar concepts of new love and a new home and family, Credence began to cry.

Percival was long gone. Credence had accepted that long ago, but of course he couldn’t help but miss him. Percival had been more than a friend. He’d been a lover. A protector. An angel, even, as Credence had liked to think of him, sent from above to protect Credence and grant him the love and affection he’d so desperately desired.

He wanted to feel that way again. Protected. Safe. Loved. Like there was no need to be afraid.

_“You don’t have to feel afraid, Credence. Not while I’m here.”_

“You don’t have to feel afraid Oscar. Not while I’m here.”

Credence started to cry harder. He’d lost Percival, yes, but now he’d found Abel, and Abel reminded him so much of Percival, in so many ways. His gentle promises were the same. His soft voice soothed Credence’s ears the same way Percival’s had. His pleased smile was the same. His dark eyes were the same. His skin was much colder than Percival’s had been, but his careful touch induced sparks in Credence’s being the same way Percival’s had.

Was it happening all over again?

Was he doomed to fall in love again, only to have it thrust back in his face? Was Abel going to turn his back the way Percival had, having rebuilt the fragments of his sorry heart only to rip it back into shreds?

Had God forever damned Credence to a half-life of loneliness? Was he doomed to be loveless and unhappy? Was this truly the life he deserved?

Credence cried. He folded in on himself, burying his face into his knees as he cried.

And Abel, sound asleep and restless on the little couch in the next room, had no way of hearing him.

Sara, in her own bed, tormented by her own nightmares, had no way of hearing him.

But Beatrice was lying awake that night, thinking hard and long about their current situation. She’d panicked. She’d worried. She’d fretted. And now she was trying to figure out what to do.

Credence cried.

And Beatrice heard him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so at first I was planning a saucy bath scene for this chapter, but then when I set out to write it it turned out to be quite angsty (XD), but then I decided to scrap that so this chapter has actually turned out pretty fluffy! :D
> 
> Also, I'm really sorry for updating so late, but I have not been able to access a computer with good wifi literally all week. It's frigging infuriating.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy, my lovelies! <3

Several weeks passed, mainly uneventfully. Credence began to get used to the daily routines of the apartment.

Every morning, Abel or Sara (or sometimes both) cooked breakfast while Beatrice flicked through her morning mail (she got a lot of that) at the table. Credence would usually sit quietly at the table while all this was going on, either reading or writing out notes or questions for his friends to read.

After breakfast, Abel and Beatrice both kissed Sara goodbye before heading off to work. Abel would always glance at him after kissing Sara, and his gaze would linger for just a moment, but then he would clear his throat and hurry out the door with a simple wave.

Sara would chuckle at that, and roll her eyes.

 _Pay him no mind_ , she’d written down once. _He’s always acted stupid around attractive young men such as yourself._

Credence had blushed red.

Sara had winked at him.

He’d blushed harder.

Sara usually stayed with him most of the morning. Unlike her friends, she started work in the early afternoon, and so didn’t have to rush off right after breakfast.

 _I’m glad for the company_ , she'd told him one morning. _While I certainly don’t mind being alone, it’s quite nice to have someone else to “talk” to until I have to head off to work._

Credence liked her too. She was gentle and sweet, and very affectionate. She reminded him slightly of a cat: cautious and wary around strange people or unfamiliar situations, but very relaxed and friendly once she got comfortable. She acted very familiar with Credence, but Credence felt that was only because Abel had introduced him. If it had been Sara that had found him in the alley that night, he was sure she would have bolted without a second glance.

He had a feeling Beatrice would have done the same.

He was glad it had been Abel.

When Sara went off to work after lunch, Credence usually spent the rest of the day reading.

There were many bookshelves in the little apartment, and they were all packed with books – fiction novels, how-to guides, cookbooks, books filled with nothing but pictures, books in languages Credence couldn’t understand, religious books Credence had quickly put back on the shelf, books about different figures in history (Credence found one about Oscar Wilde that he immediately tucked under his arm) – so many books. Credence spent his days poring over the different stories and histories and strange and wonderful facts found in each page.

He was glad to find authors he recognized, such as Jane Austen and Charles Dickens, and he was especially glad to find unfamiliar books by both authors on the shelves in the little apartment, that of which he had never read before.

Abel and Sara returned to the apartment together in the evening, usually to find Credence curled up on a chair in the lounge room, completely absorbed in his reading.

Sara would cook dinner, usually, while Abel kept Credence company in the lounge room. Abel would tell Credence about his day – what the weather had been like; what kind of customers he’d had that day; whether or not his idiot coworker Harold had finally learned that the batter went on the inside of the bowl.

Credence liked to listen to Abel talk. Abel had a pleasant voice, warm and smooth like hot chocolate, and his stories made Credence smile.

He always looked so pleased when Credence smiled.

But of course, it wasn’t all sunshine and roses.

Credence had trusted and been betrayed, trusted and been betrayed, again and again and again. Percival Graves, the one person Credence had thought would never turn his back on him, had done so without so much as a second glance. And now, while it was hard not to let things like insults and beatings affect him, Credence at least felt he was (just a little bit, anyhow) prepared for whatever abuse or mistreatment Abel or his friends would inevitably throw his way.

But the older man surprised him. Never, not once, did he act anything but patient, hospitable and kind towards Credence. Whenever Credence had a question, or had trouble understanding a situation (or something he’d read in one of Abel’s books), Abel never pinched him or scolded him for his stupidity.

Credence was clumsy, also. And when he felt nervous or scared he only got clumsier. But if he dropped something, or lost something, or accidentally scared Sara, or ripped a page in a book or ate too quickly or didn’t eat enough or did any of the things that would granted him a slap (or most cases, a beating) back at the church, he was never punished for his actions.

Abel would help Credence sort things out, reassuring him all the while that everything was fine.

Sara would pat Credence’s arm or shoulder, and smile at him as they set to work cleaning up any mess.

Beatrice would pinch the bridge of her nose, tell him to stop panicking, and instruct him on how to safely gather up anything he’d broken so she could fix it later. But if he cut his hands on any broken glass or china on account of them shaking so much, she would patiently apply ointment and bandages, humming softly to help calm him down.

Beatrice was most definitely the sterner, no-nonsense type of the three, and Credence had to admit that while he wasn’t necessarily afraid of her, she most definitely intimidated him quite a bit.

But even she seemed to have taken a shine to him. While she usually kept her distance from Credence, generally only regarding him with wary and suspicious glances over her morning letters, she didn’t altogether act outrightly mean. She politely answered any questions he had for her (questions that didn’t breach her comfort or privacy, of course), and made friendly chatter before she had to leave for work in the morning. And at night, when she checked up on Abel and Sara to make sure they were all tucked in comfortably (as comfortably as Abel could be on that cramped little couch, anyhow), she checked in on Credence too.

He liked her, he thought one morning, while he watched her fret over a panful of eggs on the stove. Once one looked past her stern demeanor, she actually turned out to be quite endearing.

*

Most days, Abel returned home with a gift for Credence – sweet pastries or baked goods from the bakery. Other days, he baked his own sweets for Credence to try (Credence especially favoured his homemade chocolate-chip muffins).

But then, a week and a half after he’d taken Credence into their home, he returned to the apartment with a much larger package in his arms.

“Mazel tov!” Abel proclaimed, beaming at him as he handed Credence the brown paper-wrapped parcel.

Credence smiled shyly back, joining his friend on the couch to open up his gift.

Inside were clothes. New trousers and a soft shirt. Two ties and a pair of shiny black shoes. A warm sweater. A smart jacket. A coat. Warm pyjamas and a fluffy nightgown. And they were all for him?

Abel’s smile told him yes.

Credence tried not to cry.

He cried anyway.

Before then, Abel had dressed Credence in his clothes – shirts and trousers and sweaters that, while they were very comfortable, were just a little bit too big. Credence’s own ragged, threadbare clothes, he’d asked Abel to burn.

Abel hadn’t questioned him, something Credence had been very grateful for, and he’d set about doing the deed while Credence took a bath.

The clothes Abel had bought him fit like a glove, like they had been made especially for Credence. Sara insisted he parade for them, laughing when Credence flushed and laughing harder when she noticed that Abel could not stop staring.

“You, um… you look very nice, Oscar,” Abel told him shyly, when Credence sat down beside him.

He took Credence’s hand.

Credence started to cry again. Abel smiled kindly at him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and kissing his cheek gently.

“It’s okay, sweet boy,” Abel murmured. “Sweet boy…”

Credence only cried harder.

 _Thank you_ ; he wrote to Abel what felt like a hundred times. _Thank you. Thank you. Thank you._

*

Beatrice sometimes returned to the little apartment with Abel and Sara, or more or less around the same time, but usually the older woman wouldn’t appear until very late at night, more often than not looking haggard and frustrated and very tense.

Neither Abel nor Sara knew where she worked, or what she did. Abel told Credence that he often fantasized she was a member of some secret service, taking down evil masterminds and destroying oppressive governments from deep underground.

Sara thought not.

One morning, their daily routines had been going smoothly as usual. Sara had been in the kitchen, preparing eggs and toast, while Abel sat at the table with Credence, doing his best to answer the questions Credence had about a book he’d just read (A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens). Beatrice had been sitting opposite them, flicking quietly through her mail, when she’d suddenly let out a shriek that had caused them all to jump and Sara to drop her eggs.

Beatrice had flushed red, but then she’d leaped up from her chair and disappeared into her room without any explanation. She’d emerged a few moments later, suddenly fully dressed and with her briefcase in hand.

“What’s going on, Bea?” Abel had called out to her as she hurried out of the room.

“They found him!” Was all she had said before the front door slammed behind her.

*

That had been three days ago.

Beatrice still hadn’t returned.

A note had appeared on the kitchen table that morning, from Beatrice. Abel had read it aloud to Credence and Sara.

It had explained simply that Beatrice was sorry for her sudden departure, but the urgent matters she’d had to attend to could not possibly be ignored for a single solitary second. She didn’t know when she would return, but she assured them all that she was perfectly safe, and that they need not worry about her absence.

Sara worried anyway.

Abel cooked chicken soup for her, and baked some little chocolate cakes to help take her mind off things.

She, like Oscar, couldn’t resist a quality baked good.

Abel was slightly glad that Beatrice had disappeared, he was ashamed to admit. Not because it had upset Sara, of course, or that it had given him a logical excuse to bake batches of chocolate treats (although that was always a plus), but because it meant he had a suitable bed to sleep in at night.

Abel was more than happy to let Oscar sleep in his bed. He wished nothing less but the utmost comfort for the sweet boy, but of course he’d be lying if he said he liked to sleep on the couch.

(Really, he would like nothing more than to share his bed with the attractive young man, but of course he wasn’t going to admit that to his new friend, or to anyone.)

But even if Oscar hadn’t been there, Abel would have taken Bea’s bed anyway. Sara, more often than not, suffered from nightmares while she slept, and needed that comfort of someone being there when she jolted awake in terror.

The first few nights, Sara slept peacefully, but by the fourth day of Bea’s disappearance, the whole affair had started to take its toll.

Sara slept fitfully that night, so much that Abel eventually left Bea’s bed to squeeze in beside her. She held onto him tightly when she awoke, mind numb with fear, and Abel kissed her and murmured to her until she went back to sleep.

Abel eventually got used to Bea’s absence. It wasn’t like this was new – she had disappeared for days on end multiple times before.

But this time was different.

This time was the first time she’d disappeared in such a way since Sara had stopped talking. And yes, Abel was worried himself, but he had a feeling that wherever Beatrice was, she wasn’t alone. He was sure that she was in safe hands, and that they would be notified if she ran into any trouble.

Besides, it would do no good to have both he and Sara worrying their hair out like a bunch of mother geese. They had a lot of work to do now that she was gone – more hours to fill so they could pay the bills on time as well as afford food for the three of them – and it wasn’t going to get done by itself.

Sara knew this too. By day, she put on a brave face, going about her usual rounds and routines as though nothing had changed.

But Abel knew the whole affair was affecting her deeply.

A week after Beatrice’s departure, while Abel was at work, Credence walked into the kitchen to find Sara hunched over the bench.

She was crying.

Credence hadn’t hesitated to hold her. He knew what it was like to miss someone, dear God above did he know, and he was more than glad that he could offer her the same comfort he’d missed when someone he loved had disappeared.

Many hot drinks and chocolate cakes were consumed that day.

*

They received letters from Beatrice almost every day. The letters were short, of course, barely more than a paragraph long, and Beatrice never disclosed much more than reassurance that she was fine, that she hoped they were all faring well, and that she would return soon. How soon, however, none of them knew, seemingly not even Beatrice herself.

Sara eventually relaxed, even beginning to see a funny side to the situation. She and Abel quickly began a game with each other, trying to guess where Beatrice had run off to, and who exactly the “he” that had been found was.

“Maybe it’s a long-lost husband,” Abel thought aloud one morning. “Perhaps they were travelling together through the South American rainforest, but then they were attacked by a caiman! And her husband was presumably eaten! But now it turns out he’s been alive all along, surviving solely on slugs and grubs, and has only now found his way to civilization to let her know he’s still alive!”

Sara had laughed loud and long. _Positively absurd_ , she’d written down. _As if a caiman would last five minutes against Beatrice._

 _What is a caiman?_ Credence asked Abel.

“It’s a reptile, native to South America,” Abel had replied. Sort of like an alligator.”

Right. Credence wrote it down, and then: _What’s an alligator?_

*

Sara took on more hours at her job – she worked at a grocery store, stacking shelves and clearing out expired food. With Beatrice gone, and Credence without a job of his own, they needed all the money they could get.

Credence felt guilty at that. He wanted to work. He wanted to help out his friends, to give back just a little of what they’d given him.

Abel seemed to read his thoughts. He assured Credence that, once everything had all settled down, they would go out searching for work, if that was what he wanted.

Credence did.

With plenty of time on his hands at home, Credence eventually set down the fiction novels, favouring instead the many cookbooks on the shelves.

He would like to cook them dinner, he thought one morning with a smile. The meals Abel and Sara cooked together were always delicious, and they always worked so hard to make sure he was content and comfortable in their little home.

He would like to do something in return.

He pored over the books, flipping through recipes and marking the ones he found interesting. Of course, he also had to consider their wages, and the food they already had in the cupboard. Asking them to go food shopping for him was out of the question, and of course, it would just ruin the surprise.

Pasta seemed a feasible option. It was quick and easy to make, he knew, and they always had plenty of it stocked in the cupboard, as well as several small jars of sauce in the icebox.

Credence had made pasta several times before, back at the church and in Percival’s own kitchen, and he’d watched Abel and Sara cook it together. It had a fairly simple method – boil some water in a pot, put in the pasta, cook it until soft, drain, serve, enjoy.

And in a smaller pot, he could heat up some sauce; maybe add some herbs and seasonings, and some honey, just the way Abel did it.

Credence set to work around an hour before his friends were due to arrive home. He wanted everything to be perfect when they walked in the door – table set, kitchen clean, food piping hot and delicious.

He could already imagine Abel and Sara each giving him a hug when they saw what he’d done for them.

Maybe Abel would even give him a kiss.

He smiled at the thought.

He hoped they would be pleased.

*

They were.

When they returned, they hadn’t even walked into the kitchen/dining room before Abel shouted: “Dear God! It smells wonderful in here!”

Abel bounded into sight, grinning when he saw Credence standing by the table. Behind him, Sara treaded slowly, looking herself extremely tired. Her eyes were drooping, and her shoulders were slumped, but she positively lit up when she saw what Credence had done.

Credence had set out the china he knew Sara liked, with the little blue birds and flowers. He’d lit candles, and folded napkins, and polished the silverware until it gleamed. The pasta was set on the table in a heavy china platter, and the sauce sat next to it in a little silver pot. The table had been wiped down beforehand, the kitchen cleaned, the floor swept.

Everything was perfect.

Abel looked just as pleased. He strode over to Credence immediately, and Credence didn’t even flinch when the older man pulled him into a hug, even reciprocating his friend’s affectionate actions.

“Sweet boy,” Abel beamed down at him. “You did so well, the place looks a positive picture. And my God, it smells good.”

Credence beamed back, feeling elated. He was so glad his friends were pleased with him.

It would’ve been nice to have Beatrice there too, Credence thought as he ate, feeling a little sheepish. When she returned, which hopefully would be soon, he would prepare them all a good, celebratory dinner. And dessert.

Sara ate without her usual gusto that night, and left the table almost as soon as she was finished, but she told Credence how much she’d enjoyed the meal, and how thankful she was of him for preparing it.

She gave them both a kiss, and even ruffled Credence’s hair before heading off to bed.

His hair was growing quite long, Credence thought then, as Sara shut her door behind her. He curled a wavy black lock round his finger, straightening it out and than letting it go.

He liked it this length. It made his face seem softer by comparison, no longer as pale and malnourished, and it balanced out the darkness of his eyes.

Abel had told him that morning he looked very pretty, before averting his gaze and hurrying out the door.

Sara had patted his arm, and told him to just ignore her friend’s foolishness.

Credence liked Abel’s foolishness.

Abel himself cut quite a fearful image out on the street – black, tall and broad, and very strong, Credence knew. Even his mother would have been afraid of him, and she herself had labelled racism as a sin.

But the man was a positive pup, always so gentle around Credence and always seeming so excited to see him.

He always looked so pleased when Credence smiled.

Abel ate two bowlfuls of Credence’s pasta, commenting on how delicious it was every five minutes. While Credence was delighted at how pleased his friend was with him, he himself felt a little disappointed that he’d only thought to make dessert less than five minutes before his friends had arrived home. The thought vanished, however, when Abel produced a brown paper package bearing several treats from the bakery; sugar dusted donuts and slices of tea cake.

Abel helped Credence with the washing up, and then they both enjoyed the sweet treats in the loungeroom. Credence curled up against his friend on the little couch, a cup of tea in his hands, and they both read quietly for a while until Credence began to yawn, and Abel decided it was time for them to head off to bed.

Abel cleaned up their little plates and cups while Credence changed into his pyjamas, and then the older man joined him in his room to make sure Credence was tucked in comfortably.

He kissed Credence gently before leaving the room, the way he did every night now. The touch of his lips sent sparks shooting down Credence’s spine.

“Goodnight, Oscar,” Abel murmured.

He rose up from the bed, and turned to head out of the room.

“Credence.”

He didn’t mean to say it; it just slipped out. Credence clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide with surprise, but it was too late – the damage was done.

Abel started, whipping back around to face Credence. He looked astonished; eyes wide, mouth hanging slightly open, eyebrows raised almost halfway up his forehead.

For a moment, the two stared at each other wordlessly.

Abel was the first to break the silence.

“The boy speaks!” He marveled, sitting back down at Credence’s side. “Sweet boy, what was it you said – Credence?”

Credence felt too surprised with himself to speak further, so he simply nodded.

He’d wanted to speak for a while; so many times, he’d wanted to audibly thank Abel for his kindness, to greet the man and his friends when they came home. But each time, it felt like his voice was trapped in his throat. For a while, he felt like he’d forgotten how to speak.

But now it had just come out, so naturally after so many weeks of silence, and it was to tell Abel his name. And that was so risky, so daring, but Credence realized then he didn’t care. He wanted Abel to know his name; he wanted to hear his name from Abel’s lips. He really liked Abel, really trusted him, and he wanted his friend to understand that completely.

Abel touched his hand.

“What does that mean, sweet boy?” Abel asked him gently. “Will you tell me? Will you speak again?”

Credence met his friend’s eyes.

“It’s my name,” he said, softly but without hesitation. “My…” he cleared his throat. “My full n-name is Credence Barebone.”

His voice was shaky and rough after so many weeks of misuse, and he found he could barely speak above a whisper, but Abel positively beamed at the sound of his voice, wrapping his hand around Credence’s and giving it a little squeeze.

“Well,” he began, “while I would love to stay and talk, it really is time for us both to get a good night’s sleep.”

Credence saddened slightly, but then Abel took his chin gently, lifting his head up to meet his gaze. His dark eyes bore into Credence’s own.

Abel smiled kindly. “Don’t fret,” he said gently. “We’ll see each other in the morning. And I don’t have work tomorrow, so we can talk all day, if that’s what you’d like.”

Credence nodded eagerly.

“I would,” he mumbled, smiling shyly at his friend.

Abel beamed at him, and then he leaned forward to give Credence another kiss.

“Well then,” he murmured, “goodnight, Credence.”

He stood up and headed out of the room, his gaze lingering just a little on Credence before he shut the door.

They all slept peacefully that night.

*

Beatrice returned the next morning.

Almost a month had passed since her departure.

Abel and Sara were “talking” in the kitchen when she arrived, but Credence was reading in the loungeroom, and he looked up when the door opened.

She wasn’t alone.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What time is it? New character time!

Abel was in the kitchen with Sara, making chatter as she washed the dishes, when they heard the front door open.

They glanced at each other, and he didn’t even need to say what was on both of their minds before they were hurrying into the lounge room, dishes completely forgotten.

Sara ran ahead of Abel, and before Beatrice had even stepped through the door Sara was throwing her arms around the older woman, laughing and crying and almost squealing with joy.

Abel leaned against the doorway, observing his friends. For a moment, Beatrice seemed slightly dazed, looking at Sara like she’d never seen her before, but then she smiled at her friend, crouching down to return the hug.

Abel beamed at his friends. He hadn’t seen Sara so happy since before Beatrice had left.

A flash of movement suddenly caught his eye, and he turned his head, peering curiously past Beatrice’s tall frame.

There were two women waiting out in the hall.

Abel glanced back at Beatrice, slightly shocked. She never brought guests home.

Never.

Beatrice had straightened back up by then. Sara was a good deal shorter than the older woman, and kept her arms persistently hooked around Beatrice’s waist, seeming as though she had no intentions of letting her friend go for a good while yet. Abel had to suppress a chuckle, thinking of how much the pair looked like a stubborn child and an exasperated mother.

Beatrice did look exasperated. In fact, she looked positively haggard, nothing like her usual composed, confident self. She was also a good deal thinner than she’d been when he’d last seen her, Abel noted with slight concern. He looked at her face, also noting the dullness in her eyes, her sallow complexion, the hollowness in her cheeks. He would have to get some tea and soup into her right away.

“Welcome back, Bea,” he managed a smile, trying to mask his worry. It would only annoy her, he knew. “Who are your friends?”

“Good morgan… morning, Abel,” she said softly, not seeming to hear his question. “It’s…” she stopped, yawning. “It’s good to be home.”

She stepped wearily into the room, feet dragging against the floor. Abel for a moment felt a little stunned – he’d never seen her like this, as anything other than apprehensive and alert.

Then again, it wasn’t impossible that Beatrice was just tired. Gone so long, goodness knows what she’d been up to.

He glanced at Sara, arms still locked around her friend. She seemed a little uneasy too, head tilted up to study Beatrice’s face.

She took Beatrice’s hand, leading the older woman over to her usual spot by the fireplace. Beatrice collapsed into the chair, groaning slightly in pleasure. She closed her eyes and smiled, sinking back comfortably.

“Dear zon ov God, how I’ve missed dis,” she murmured.

Beatrice had left her suitcase next to the door, but Abel knew better than to take it up. The older woman absolutely hated when people, even he and Sara, touched her belongings without her permission.

Instead, he turned to his attention to the two women that by now had followed Beatrice into the apartment.

The two women seemed about the same height, but the resemblance stopped there. One was dark, about as dark as Abel himself, while the other was almost as pale as Beatrice. While the dark woman was slim and boyish, her friend was curvy and broad, with wide hips and large hands.

The dark woman’s hair was cut short and neat beneath her hat, and she was dressed in trousers and a long blue coat. A withered gold locket hung around her neck.

Abel had a feeling Sara would like this woman immensely. She seemed trendy and modern, and looked about their age. When he looked back at Sara, still standing beside Beatrice, he saw she was already beaming at their new guest.

The other woman looked closer to Beatrice’s age, and her dirty blond hair was nowhere near as neat as her friend’s. Untucked from her hat, which she’d pulled off as she entered the room, it tumbled down around her shoulders, wild and untamed. She was dressed a little oddly, in vivid reds and blues that Abel wouldn’t have thought fit together but somehow suited her well.

But even in her brightly coloured clothes, it was her eyes that took center stage. Half-hidden by a pair of round spectacles, they reminded Abel of water; neither blue nor grey but a mixture of both, with a slight mystical quality. And when she looked at Abel, peering at him over the rim of her spectacles, they seemed to stare into his very soul.

Her eyes lingered on Abel for a little too long, and for a moment Abel felt uneasy, but then she’d dropped his gaze, turning her head to look about the room. When her eyes left his, Abel felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He exhaled shakily, feeling slightly out of sorts.

Who was this strange woman?

And why had Beatrice brought her back to the apartment?

*

Credence felt numb.

Beatrice had returned, and Sara was crying with joy (which had to be most sound he’d ever heard from her), and there was an unfamiliar woman in their apartment, but Credence had eyes for only one person.

It was her. The nice lady from the subway.

She looked almost the same as she had when he'd last seen her. Her hair was shorter than he remembered, and neater, and of course she was wearing different clothes, but other than that the rest of her was unchanged. She still had the same kind smile, the same glint to her dark, intelligent eyes, the same little hands that had once held his so tightly.

When she’d approached him that day, alongside Mister Graves and that nice redheaded man, he’d had a feeling they’d met before. More than that, he knew they’d met before, but where there should have been a memory, all he found in his mind was darkness.

But he’d remembered her then. He’d remembered the scent of her perfume, the colour of her coat. He’d remembered her cute little dimple, the way her eyes glinted as she smiled, the thrumming of her voice in his ears when she told him not to cry.

He’d dreamt about her, about these sensations. He’d dreamt in the colour of her lipstick, in the shape of her mouth. Lying awake in the morning, he could almost feel her lips on his cheek, almost feel her hand as it clasped his own.

The lady in front of him opened her mouth now, and her lips (he caught the glint of a sheen) moved, but no words came out. Still, Credence knew that she’d meant to say his name.

He didn't remember her name.

 

For what felt like an eternity, Credence stared at the nice lady, and the nice lady stared back at him.

He was slightly surprised that she’d recognized him. Yes, he was still Credence, but he’d gone through so many changes since Abel had found him in the alleyway. He was no longer so thin and gaunt, and his eyes were no longer so haunted. Sure, he wasn’t as lively and trusting as Abel, far from it, but he was also far from the broken, trembling boy he’d been before.

Credence was recovering.

Under the care of his new friends, Credence had gained weight and grown strong. There was colour in his cheeks and a light in his eyes, and a pudge in his belly. His hair had grown long and wavy, almost touching the tops of his shoulders.

Abel liked his hair a lot, Credence knew. When they cuddled together on the couch, reading together or enjoying some tea and pastries, Abel would often absentmindedly run his fingers through Credence’s wavy black locks; tuck stray hairs behind his ear.

With Abel there, Credence didn’t feel afraid.

With Abel there, he didn’t felt the need to eat so quickly, lest someone try to take his food away. With Abel there, Credence could relax, not feeling the need to hunch over protectively in his chair or as he walked, eyes darting every which way so he would have time to flinch out of the way if anyone got too close. He could actually sleep at night now, on his side with his back to the door. He could meet people’s eyes now, and hold their gaze, without fear of being slapped or pinched for his disrespect.

Beatrice had told him once that maintaining eye contact was, in fact, a sign of respect, as well as attentiveness.

“Iv zumone does not look at you vile you talk,” she’d said to him, blueberry eyes boring into this own, “it means they don’t really care about vot you are zaying.”

Credence had nodded, indicating he understood.

“And iv zumone haz told you not to look at them vile they talk,” she continued, “It iz not because they are trying to teach you proper manners. It iz because dey think you are beneath them.”

Credence held the nice lady’s gaze now, and she held his. Her mouth still hung slightly open, and he could see tears had now formed in the corners of her eyes.

_“Newt and I will protect you.”_

The words reverberated through Credence’s mind.

She’d tried to protect him, that day. She’d tried to protect him from Mr Graves. She’d tried to protect him from himself.

_“Newt and I will protect you.”_

But Credence hadn’t needed to be protected. He hadn’t needed to be saved. Credence had been a mass of dark energy, an unstoppable force incapable of control. He’d destroyed buildings. He’d killed people.

He’d killed his ma, his sisters. He’d wanted to kill Mister Graves.

He hadn’t needed to be protected.

They’d needed protection from him.

She knew what he was. She knew what he’d done. She knew what he could become, at any given moment.

She should fear him.

But when she looked at him, what he found when he looked back at her was surprise, and disbelief, and sadness and regret and hope, but not a trace of fear. And on her lips, rather than a scream or shout of alarm, he found only his name.

“Credence…”

Her voice was so quiet, but to Credence it was the loudest thing in the room, louder than Abel’s friendly chatter, louder than Beatrice’s snores, louder even than the strange woman’s boisterous laughter. Her voice travelled through the air, reaching Credence’s ears and echoing in his mind.

She said his name.

He closed his eyes, the sound of her voice taking him back to another time, back to a place he wished upon wished he could forget.

He opened his eyes again. He wasn’t there any more, he reassured himself. He was in the here and now, and he had friends, and a warm bed, and new clothes, and Abel, and the nice lady was here too, and she was saying his name.

“Credence…”

And then suddenly he remembered hers.

“Tina.”

*

Abel quickly managed to regain his composure.

How rude he was being, he scolded himself. Two new guests and all he’d done since they arrived was gawk at one of them like a fish. They needed tea! They needed snacks! And he needed to know their names!

The strange woman was still looking about the room, and the dark woman was staring past his shoulder, looking so much in shock Abel wondered if she’d perhaps seen a ghost.

But he followed her gaze, and the only thing in her line of vision was Osc-Credence.

Abel glanced between them, slightly confused. Did they know each other? But how? If they did, when had they last seen each other?

Had they known each other before Abel had found the boy back in the alleyway? Did she know what Credence had used to be?

Credence was looking back at the woman, just as intensely as she was looking at him. Their expressions matched each other’s completely; shocked and surprised, as if they’d never expected to see each other (again?).

Abel cocked his head in interest.

The woman smiled.

And when Abel looked back, Credence was smiling too, just as wide if not wider than the woman before him.

Abel felt a sudden pang of jealousy.

He coughed, shocked with himself at the sudden unexpected feeling.

The two women looked back at him curiously.

He quickly slapped a smile on his face.

“Shalom! Welcome!” He said cheerfully, extending his hand out to the two women. “You must be friends of Beatrice. Please, make yourself at home.”

“And you must be Abel,” the dark woman smiled, stepping forward to shake his hand. “Yes, Bea’s told us about you and Sara. It’s nice to meet you, at last.”

They both turned to look pointedly at Beatrice. Beatrice, eyes closed and half dozing off it seemed, did not see them.

“And it is very nice to meet you,” Abel replied, turning back to the women. “Forgive me for not knowing your name – Beatrice has never mentioned you, or the fact that she actually has friends.”

Beatrice snorted from her chair.

“And she _never_ brings guests home,” Abel remarked, turning to smile at the woman standing beside Tina. “But may I say, it is a pleasure to meet you both.”

“And it is a pleasure to meet you,” the second woman said in a strong British accent. Her voice was deep, much deeper than Beatrice’s, and though she had spoken softly it seemed to carry across the room, like an ocean. He wondered if she always sounded like that.

“Right, yes,” the first woman piped up, and he looked back at her to see her looking slightly embarrassed. “Sorry, my name is Tina Goldstein, and this is Alma…”

She stopped, and reached into the pocket of her coat to pull out a little slip of paper. She glanced at it briefly before tucking it back in, coughing in further embarrassment. “And this is our friend, Alma Trelawney. She’s visiting shortly, from England.”

“Charmed,” Alma Trelawney extended her own pale, bejeweled hand, and he shook it briskly.

Abel felt a tug on his sleeve then, and he turned around, smiling when he saw Credence standing behind him.

The boy was cowering slightly, suddenly seeming timid. Abel frowned, taking his friend’s hand.

“What’s wrong, sweet boy?” Abel asked gently, giving Credence’s hand a squeeze. “Is everything alright?”

Before Credence could answer, Alma Trelawney spoke again.

“Ah! And this must be Oscar!” She said in a suddenly booming voice, and then Abel was (to his completely and utter shock) roughly pushed aside as the surprisingly strong woman took Credence into her arms and clutched him against her bosom.

“Yes, Beatrice has told us all about you too!” She said cheerfully. “She says Abel in particular actually has feelings for you!”

“Alma!” Tina cried in shock.

Credence went red.

Abel, having been thrown back against the wall, grit his teeth in both embarrassment and pain. He glared at Alma Trelawney, wondering who exactly this damn woman thought she was barging into his house and hugging _his_ boy, but then thankfully she’d dropped her arms again, stepping back slightly to look at his face.

She gave his shoulder a squeeze, suddenly seeming surprisingly gentle.

“Ah, you’re a good lad,” she smiled approvingly, looking him over. “Strong, kind, brave... I can see why Abel is so fond of you.”

Credence blushed again. He snuck a glance at Abel, who by now was also gawking at the strange woman, looking both awed and slightly indignant.

Abel refused to meet his eyes, instead continuing to gawk at the back of the madwoman’s head.

Alma turned to him then, now looking stern. “You be good to this boy now, you hear?”

Abel sputtered in anger, angering further so when she immediately turned away from him, chuckling.

He felt like stamping his foot. He knew plenty well how to care for his boy. He didn’t need this madwoman coming into his house and telling him how to treat his friends. Who did she think she was, anyway?

Credence practically bounded away from the madwoman the moment she released him, and to both his and Abel’s relief she didn’t step back into his space. Instead, she circulated around the couch to go throw her arms around Sara, who, though she also looked slightly surprised, immediately returned the friendly hug.

She had some sense of tact, at least, Abel thought slightly bitterly.

Tina Goldstein looked extremely embarrassed now, but then she was stepping around Abel, her expression changing to one of worry.

She stopped before Credence.

Abel turned back to Credence. The young man was standing behind him, watching Alma Trelawney like a hawk. He turned to Tina when she stopped in front of him, and for a moment they stared at each other wordlessly, but then Credence looked up at him.

Abel smiled softly at his friend, but then his smile widened when Credence reached out to take his hand.

“Abel…”

“Yes, Credence?”

“Credence,” Tina spoke before Credence could reply, to Abel’s annoyance. Abel turned to her, trying not to frown, but it didn’t matter whether or not he did. Her eyes were only on Credence.

Abel squeezed his friend’s hand.

“It is you,” she breathed. “I was so worried, so afraid that you were going to be someone else, but it’s you. It’s you.”

She touched Credence’s cheek.

Credence took a shuddery breath, squeezing his eyes shut when she touched him. Abel squeezed his hand protectively, smiling when Credence squeezed back.

“It’s alright, Credence,” he murmured, holding on tightly. “It’s alright…”

Tina, her hand still on Credence’s cheek, stared at them both. Her gaze switched back and forth between them, her eyebrows raising slightly.

“Wait, you… you know his name?” She asked. She turned back to Credence, looking confused. “Beatrice told us you were calling yourself Oscar.”

“I was calling him that,” Abel said, a little pointedly. “He was a little reluctant to tell us his name, at the start, but he liked the name Oscar, so that’s what we’ve been calling him. But,” Abel looked down at Credence fondly, “he told me his real name last night.”

Credence looked back up at him, returning his smile. Abel squeezed his hand.

Credence squeezed back.

Tina, though she was slightly surprised, smiled at the two. Credence looked so comfortable with this man, who in turn seemed to like Credence quite a lot. She wondered how they’d come to meet; how long they’d known each other.

“Abel, this is, Miss Tina,” Credence said gently, turning back to smile at the nice lady. “Before… before you found me, we, um… we knew each other.”

Tina smiled right back at him.

Abel glanced between them, eyebrows raised.

Once again, he felt a twinge of jealousy.

He swallowed, looking away from the two, not being able to stand they way they smiled at each other.

He tightened his hand around his friend’s.

And Credence squeezed back.

Abel smiled down at his sweet boy, now feeling slightly smug. Even with this woman here, a woman he'd apparently liked a lot when they'd known each other, it was still Abel now that Credence sought for comfort.

His smile quickly dropped, however, when Tina started speaking again.

“…a long time ago. We didn’t really know each other all that well, but…” Tina cleared her throat. “I felt that we had a bond."

Abel's heart gave a pang.

"I tried to see him whenever I could," she continued. "And even when I was banned from seeing him again, I…”

Her eyes drifted back to Credence.

“I looked for you anyway,” she said softly.

“I saw you,” Credence said, even softer.

Abel realized then that he wasn’t meant to be a part of this conversation.

He looked down awkwardly, swallowing down a small lump that had suddenly risen in the back of his throat. He felt a little tempted to stay, quite frankly not giving much of a damn if the woman felt uncomfortable with him being there.

But no. Abel was not a rude man. He never had been, and he certainly wasn’t going to start today. If what Credence needed was privacy to reconcile with his old friend, of course Abel would give it to him without argument.

It was hard to let go, but he dropped Credence’s hand, stepping away from the pair.

He hoped the sadness he felt wasn't apparent on his face, but it didn't matter, anyway.

Credence didn't even look at him when he left.

He trudged into the kitchen, feeling mournfully. How had they known each other? For how long? And what were they to each other? Had they been friends? Had…

Abel looked down at his hand, that had held Credence’s so tightly. He could still feel his boy’s warm palm against his own.

Abel loved Credence.

He really, really loved him.

Abel took a shaky breath, clenching his fist so tight his knuckles strained against his skin.

But what if he loved Tina?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I've racebent Tina and Queenie for this fic, mostly because I feel the film wasn't as diverse as it should've been, but also because the idea of black Tina and black Queenie popped into my head the other day and now I find it absolutely irresistible! Anyway, hope you enjoyed the latest chapter! :D


	12. Chapter 12

Tina barely noticed Abel’s absence. She stepped closer to Credence, her lips quivering slightly. Credence, hating to see her upset, reached out to take her hand.

She grasped it tightly between her own. “I was demoted for trying to help you,” she said, a bitter tone in her voice. “I was publicly shamed at my work, for trying to help you. But… I just had to know you were safe.”

“I…” Credence looked around him, suddenly noticing Abel’s departure. He saddened slightly when his friend was nowhere to be found, but he turned back to Tina, managing a smile. “I am now.”

“C-Credence…” Tina’s voice cracked slightly, and she cleared her throat again, tears filling her eyes.

She touched his cheek.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered. “I thought I was never going to see you again.”

“I’m here.” Credence whispered back, starting to cry himself.

“I couldn’t forgive myself for leaving you behind, that night. I should’ve taken you with me. Why… _why_ didn’t I take you with me?”

Her shoulders started to shake. She hunched forward slightly, body racking with sobs. She gripped his hand so tightly it almost hurt.

“I’m sorry… oh Credence, I’m so sorry!” She wailed. “I should’ve protected you…”

Credence put an arm around her shoulder, hoping to comfort her the way Abel comforted him.

“I’m okay,” he said gently. “I’m okay now.”

She sobbed again, her hand tightening around his. He wrapped his arm completely around her, and held her against him, tucking her head into the crook of his neck.

“I remembered you,” Credence murmured into her hair. “I dreamt about you every night.”

“Oh, Credence…” Tina looked back up at Credence, her eyes brimming with emotion.

She threw her arms around completely Credence then, sobbing into his shoulder. Credence held her just as tightly, and the two cried and cried.

“Credence,” Tina sobbed. “Oh, Credence…”

Credence didn’t speak.

There was so much to be said, so much that he wanted to say, that he found he couldn’t speak at all.

*

Abel cluttered around the kitchen noisily, banging plates and dropping cutlery.

He opened a drawer and then shut it again forcefully, thinking about the way Credence had had eyes only for Tina.

He opened the drawer again and shut it again more forcefully, thinking about how Tina had touched his boy’s cheek.

He opened the drawer again and left it open, turning away to open a cupboard and close it hard.

He could feel Sara’s eyes on him, but he didn’t care. He kept banging away, reopening the cupboard to slam it shut, repeating that several times before just throwing it shut impatiently and then turning to grab some tea cups and slam them down so hard on the bench he didn’t even need to look over to know that Sara had flinched, and then he felt ashamed for scaring her, which just made him feel angrier, so he cluttered around even louder and fiercer, blinking rapidly and biting the inside of his cheek to keep from crying.

Credence hadn’t even _looked_ at him when he’d left.

Blink.

All he’d looked at was Tina.

Blink. Blink.

Abel closed the drawer that he’d left open, before opening and closing it again once more.

He sighed, resting his weight in his hands to lean over the sink, gripping the edge of the basin so tightly his knuckles strained against his skin. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, hoping that the pain would distract him from thinking about his love in the next room, alone with what it seemed was his own love.

It wasn’t working.

He sighed again, biting harder, blinking faster.

Were they kissing right now?

Blink.

Were they holding each other?

Blink. Blink.

Were they kissing each other?

Blink. Blink. Blink.

*

For what felt like an eternity, the two friends held each other and cried. And even when they stopped crying, Tina didn’t let go of Credence, and Credence didn’t let go of her.

When they finally broke apart, they realized they were alone in the room.

Tina sniffed, dabbing at her tear-stained cheeks. She smiled at Credence, reaching up to touch his cheek.

The top of his jacket was soaked through with Tina’s tears.

He smiled right back at her, lifting his own hand to grasp tightly at hers.

They didn’t speak.

There was no need to.

*

Once they’d made themselves presentable again (straightening clothes, wiping eyes), Tina took Credence’s hand. She squeezed it once, and he squeezed back, before leading her into the kitchen.

Abel was standing with Sara by the sink, facing away from the doorway. Sara’s hand was on his back, and was talking to her, too quietly for Credence to hear. He turned around when Credence entered.

Credence’s mouth opened slightly. Why did his friend look so… despaired?

He immediately crossed over to his friend, his hand slipping from Miss Tina’s. Sara smiled at him as he approached, stepping slightly to the side so Credence could take Abel’s hand.

“Abel, are you alright?” He asked worriedly, giving his friend’s hand a squeeze. “What’s wrong? Why do you look so sad?”

Abel glanced at Sara. She cocked her eyebrows, glancing pointedly at Credence. Abel frowned at her, and she frowned back, before rolling her eyes.

Credence looked between them, both in interest and confusion. How could they communicate so wordlessly? Had they perhaps created their own language of nothing more than facial expressions and hand gestures?

He and Modesty had been similar, Credence remembered then, but their non-verbal communication had mostly consisted of nods and shakes behind their mother’s back, lest they guessed the other was about to do something that might’ve made her angry. They’d never held whole conversations based on the way they moved their eyebrows.

Sara patted Abel’s arm, now smiling sincerely. He managed a smile back, and when she walked away he looked up to smile at Credence.

His eyes were very shiny.

Credence smiled at him, though he still felt concerned. He tightened his hand around his friend’s.

“Are you okay?” He asked gently.

‘Yes,” Abel said a little too quickly. “Yes, my boy, I’m fine.”

Credence furrowed his brows. He squeezed Abel’s hand again, feeling relieved when Abel squeezed back.

Abel sighed, but then he smiled, a real smile this time. “I’m fine, really,” he said gently,

He glanced to the side, where the women were all seated at the table. Beatrice was hunched over in her chair, scrawling rapidly in a tattered old notebook. She seemed completely absorbed in what she was writing, barely appearing to notice that Alma Trelawney was peering down at the page herself.

Alma was seated beside Beatrice, close enough that their shoulders were touching. While Beatrice would normally have inched away pointedly had anyone but Sara retained such closeness, she didn’t seem to mind Alma being there. In fact, Alma had even gone so far as to put her arm around Beatrice’s shoulder, and so far their friend seemed to hold no objection.

Tina Goldstein had sat down opposite to Beatrice, and was now chatting cordially to Sara, who was responding enthusiastically in her own notebook.

Abel had been right. From the way Sara smiled at Tina, it appeared she already liked her a lot.

Sara was facing away from them, but she turned to look at them when Abel looked at her.

She raised her eyebrows at him, smiling when he smiled at her.

They nodded at each other – that same unspoken language.

“Credence,” Abel turned back to him, a sudden glint in his eyes. “Why don’t we go for a walk?”

“What?” Credence stared at him, feeling slightly taken aback by the sudden suggestion; by his friend’s sudden change in mood. “A… a walk?”

“Yes, a walk,” Abel repeated, chuckling. “Come on, let’s leave the ladies to their chatter. Besides, I could do with getting some fresh air. All I’ve been doing is working since Beatrice left.”

“Hmm…” Credence was still very surprised, and as Abel continued on the matter he quickly began to feel very anxious. Nevertheless, he managed a smile, nodding his head. “Okay,” he lifted his gaze, smiling at his friend. “Okay.”

Abel patted his shoulder, grinning. “Let me get dressed, my boy. Actually,” Abel chuckled. “You should get dressed to. Can’t have us wandering about town in our sleepwear!”

Credence looked down, feeling slightly surprised. He’d forgotten he was still wearing pyjamas.

Abel had bought him his own pyjamas: a pale blue set of bottoms and a top, but Credence more often than not found himself favouring the nightgown Abel had offered him to wear the night they’d met. He didn’t really understand why, though; they were both just as comfortable as the other.

Right now, Credence was wearing the nightgown. He and Abel were around the same height, though Credence was slimmer, so it hung slightly off his shoulders, the bottom hem skimming over his feet as he walked.

Abel cleared his throat.

“Right, um,” he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, before giving a short laugh. Credence observed the movement, his gaze lingering slightly on Abel’s lips when his friend continued to speak.

“I, uh…” Abel laughed again. “Would you like to change first, then?”

He licked his lips again, leaving a slight sheen. His bottom lip was puffier and a little paler than his top lip, and one of his teeth protruded slightly from his mouth, scraping gently over the surface.

“Credence?”

Credence realized Abel had asked him a question. He lifted his gaze back up to meet Abel’s eyes, blushing slightly.

“Okay,” he nodded, smiling at his friend.

Abel smiled back, clapping his shoulder.

“Right then,” he said. “I’ll wait out here.”

“Okay.” Credence walked through the doorway, his breath catching slightly as his shoulder brushed against Abel’s, and then he practically ran into the bedroom, quickly shutting the door behind him.

Credence fell back against the door, exhaling heavily. That was odd. He felt… very lightheaded and dazed, all of a sudden.

He patted his belly, trying to remember what he’d had for breakfast that morning. He knew he’d had tea, yes, but for some reason he couldn’t recall whether or not he’d actually eaten.

That must be why he felt so dizzy, he thought. He’d make sure to have something to eat before they left.

Credence dressed quickly, not wanting to keep his friend waiting for long. It seemed it was going to be a warm day, Credence guessed from the clear blue and yellow sky, but he slung his jacket over his arm as he left the room, just to be safe.

Abel was leaning against the doorway, but he straightened up when Credence opened the door.

“Won’t be a moment,” he smiled at Credence, and walked over to squeeze past him into the bedroom. His whole body brushed against Credence now, almost pressing against him, and Credence found himself holding his breath until the door had closed in his face.

Credence half-stumbled over to the couch, sitting down heavily and cradling his head in his hand, feeling that sudden dizziness again. He exhaled, closing his eyes again. Maybe Abel was onto something. The room was already small, but now it seemed tiny, and the air suddenly seemed too thick and too warm.

Credence, a bit too rapidly that he almost swayed on his feet, and then he hurried into the kitchen to have a glass of water.

He poured himself multiple glasses, downing them all so quickly that of course he ended up choking. He set the glass down hard, coughing and spitting into the sink.

He turned around. Miss Tina was looking at him.

“Are you feeling okay, Credence?” She asked, starting to get out of her chair. “You’re very pink.”

“I-I’m fine, Miss Tina,” Credence coughed again, but he managed a reassuring smile. “I just felt… a little dizzy, all of a sudden.”

Now Sara was looking at him. Seeing the two women side by side, Credence had to admit he was a little surprised they looked so unalike. His whole life, Ma had made out all black folk to look the same, to act the same, to all have the same views and goals and ideals as each other. But now, having lived with two black people for over a month, Credence suddenly thought then how wrong she’d been.

Of course, Abel and Sara looked different to each other, Abel being male and Sara being female, but it wasn’t just their sex that separated them. It was the shapes of their eyes and lips, the size of their noses. The way they cut their hair. Their facial shape. Their figure. They were different colours too, different shades of brown. Abel was very dark, like the cocoa powder he used in baking. Sara’s skin was a little lighter, more like the colour of the instant coffee grounds she bought at the market.

And Miss Tina and Sara were both female, and they couldn’t look more different. Miss Tina was also darker than Sara, her skin around the same shade as Abel’s, and her dark eyes had that same friendly glint. She was slimmer than the two of them, slimmer even than Credence, and her lips were thin rather than full. Her hair was different, as well. While it was cut short, Sara grew hers long and braided it into buns, either up upon her crown or just behind her ears.

And they didn’t all act the same, either. They were both brave, and they were both kind, and they were both very good cooks, but where Abel was talkative and humorous, Sara was practical and to-the-point. Credence guessed it was to save paper, perhaps, or to not take too long replying to a question. Writing did take a lot longer than speaking.

Abel was optimistic. Sara was anxious. Abel often seemed to have trouble getting his emotions across, but Sara never hesitated to say how she really felt. And Miss Tina was shy, and slightly impulsive, as it seemed from what Credence could remember about her.

Abel could get distracted easily, and he was always moving – tapping his fingers against the table, tapping his feet as they sat on the couch or as he cooked at the stove. Even at night, when they’d all gone to sleep, Credence wouldn’t be surprised if he tossed and turned in his slumber.

Sara was a little stiff. Even when she appeared to be relaxed – humming as she read in her chair, conversing with Beatrice as they ate dinner, she was also just a little too still, any movement she made seeming forced. Her shoulders always seemed tense, her hands always returning to her lap or by her sides as she moved around.

Really, Credence couldn’t understand where Mary Lou was coming from. Black people had just as many differences and details to their appearances and personalities as white people.

Really, if any marginalized group of people all acted and looked the same, it would have to be the children back at the church. They had all been just a little too pale, just a little too skinny, all dressed in the same plain, constricting clothes and thin jackets or sweaters.

Then again, that had been under Mary Lou’s authority. She’d spanked a child once just for having a blue scarf wound round his neck during the winter.

Sara and Miss Tina returned to their conversation. Credence, feeling a little better, walked back into the loungeroom. He sat down on the little couch, not bothering to grab a book; he guessed Abel would be out in only a few moments.

He relaxed, leaning back in his seat, tapping his fingers over the tops of his thighs.

“You’re in love.”

Credence jumped. He turned and jumped again; the British woman, Alma Trelawney, was standing right behind him, peering down at him intently. Behind her spectacles, her eyes were very bright.

Credence gawked at her. When in the world had she gotten there? Shouldn’t he have heard her come in?

She crossed around the little couch, and pulled up Beatrice’s chair to sit down close to him. Credence swallowed, feeling slightly uncomfortable at her sudden nearness, but he didn’t try to move away. She was a guest. He didn’t want to seem rude.

She raised her eyebrows at him for a moment, and then she herself moved, lifting up the little chair to scoot several inches away before sitting down again.

She held out a pale, bejeweled hand.

“May I?” She asked.

Credence gazed incredulously down at her hand, frowning in confusion. “May… may you what?” He asked, hoping he didn’t seem stupid.

She laughed, but it was a good-natured laugh. “Your hand,” she explained, beckoning to him. “May I have your hand?”

Credence frowned even further, feeling more confused than ever. What did she want with his hand?

Nevertheless, he didn’t want to seem rude by not following her request. So, slowly, he extending his own hand, until it was touching hers.

Miss Trelawney smiled, seeming pleased; raising her other hand to adjust her spectacles. She grasped his hand between hers, running her stubby fingers slightly over his knuckles.

She turned his hand over, his palm now facing up. She stared at it for a few moments, brows furrowed in concentration.

Credence stared at her, his own brows furrowed in confusion. What in the world was she doing?

“Um, excuse me, Miss Trelawney?” He spoke quietly. “If, uh, if you don’t mind me asking, ma’am, um, what…”

She glanced up at him, eyebrows raised.

“What are you doing?”

She chuckled. “Why, reading your palm, of course!” She grinned at him, baring her crooked white teeth.

Credence only felt more confused. “R-reading my palm?”

How was one supposed to read a palm? There weren’t any words on it, any pictures. Just lines, and in his case scars. What was she going to do, count them?

She chuckled again. “Yes, young man. I assume you aren’t familiar with a such a thing, of course.”

Credence shook his head.

“You needn’t worry,” Miss Trelawney smiled kindly at him. “It’s a form of fortune-telling, of predicting one’s future. Most people find it to be complete and utter rubbish, so I haven’t been able to make a living off of it as of yet, but I do find it to be quite the hobby!”

She laughed.

Credence stared at her. “You mean… you mean it’s witchcraft?”

Miss Trelawney scoffed. “Absolutely not. Far from it, though I find magic to be a little more practical.”

It took Credence a few moments to process the new information, and when he did he gasped. “You’re a witch?”

“Whoops-a-daisy!” She laughed again. “Oh, silly me, I can never hold my tongue.” She waved her hand. “Never mind that, for now, young man.”

She patted his hand, once again turning her attention back down to his hand. Credence of course now had more questions than ever, but he didn’t want to disrespect her privacy.

He sat back again, trying to relax. Although she appeared to be quite brash and impulsive, based on what Credence has seen since she’d come into the apartment, he didn’t think she was very malicious. If Beatrice trusted her enough to bring her back to their home, she really mustn’t be all that bad.

Alma glanced up to smile at him, running her fingers gently over his palm, leaving a little tickling sensation in her wake. He resisted the urge to snatch his hand back and rub it against his trousers, until the sensation passed.

“You’re in love,” she said again.

He almost did snatch his hand back then, out of shock. “W-what?”

He stared incredulously at her. What was she going on about? He wasn’t in love.

“Yes, yes you are,” she laughed again, clutching his hand. “Oh, this love is much prettier than the love you felt before, much sweeter.”

Credence sputtered slightly, but then she raised her hand and he fell silent, though he stared harder than ever.

Credence didn’t think he could feel more surprised at the moment had there been a plump green toad sitting in Beatrice’s chair, rather than a handsome British woman. Even if the toad had been bright pink and covered in green splotches, or if it was wearing a cap and smoking a pipe, or even if it was flying around the room with little iridescent wings, he still wouldn’t feel more surprised.

“You’re in love,” she said it once more, “But you’re confused. Perhaps, even…” she turned his hand to the side, “afraid?”

Credence didn’t speak; he only stared.

“You’re holding onto the feelings for a man you used to know,” she continued, not stopping even when he gasped. “A man you haven’t seen in a long, long time. And you’re afraid, because it was this very man you loved most of all.”

Credence inhaled shakily, a small lump starting to form in the back of his throat.

Who was this woman? How did she know such things?

Had… had she known Mister Graves?

Had she known Percival?

She was still speaking. Credence quickly snapped out of his thoughts. He didn’t want to miss a word of what she said.

“You looked up to him for guidance and for support, and you thought he loved you too. He did love you, Credence. The time you spent together meant as much to him as it does to you.”

Credence blinked twice. A tear slipped down his cheek.

Miss Trelawney sighed, running her finger in circles over his hand. He looked down when she looked at him; not wanting to see the pity he knew was on her face.

“But…” Alma drifted off, and he snuck a glance back at her. She wasn’t really looking at him anymore, and her face now held no certifiable emotion.

She stared off into the room for a moment. Credence felt tempted to follow her gaze, half-wondering if there was something behind him, but as he was about to turn she shook her head, almost as if coming out of a trance.

She cleared her throat, turning her gaze back down to his palm.

“Things are different now,” she said, holding his hand a little tighter than she had before. “Circumstances are different. You know more now. You understand more. What happened to you in the past,” she held his hand even tighter, “it hurt you so much, more than I could ever imagine. You’re so brave, my dear. So, so brave, and so strong. Certainly stronger than you think.”

She let go of his hand, lifting her gaze to meet his own eyes. She reached up and slipped off her spectacles; her face now seemed strange, naked even. Her eyes bore into his.

Credence held her gaze.

“There’s someone you’re waiting for,” she said, completely out of context.

Her gaze flickered past him, and then her eyes widened slightly. When Credence turned to look for himself, it was none other than Abel standing there, finally dressed in trousers, shirt and vest, and his pair of “outdoor shoes”. Like Credence, he had his jacket slung over his arm.

Credence brightened at the sight of his dear friend, but of course he still felt confused. Why would he need to wait for Abel, when Abel was right here with him? As far as he knew, his friend had no intentions of leaving or going anywhere.

His gaze lingered on Abel for a moment, before he turned back to the woman before him.

She smiled at him, and her smile was kind, but there was something hidden in her eyes that Credence couldn’t quite read.

She touched his cheek.

“They’re waiting for you too,” was all she said.

She stood up then, and left the room without another word, leaving Credence alone with his confusion.

Abel waited until Miss Trelawney had passed into the kitchen before stepping over to Credence. He ignored Beatrice’s chair, in favour of sitting down beside Credence on the little couch.

He put a hand on Credence’s knee, giving it a little squeeze.

“Are you feeling alright, Credence?” Abel asked him. “You seem troubled.”

Credence lifted his gaze from Abel’s hand. He met Abel’s eyes, lifting his own hand to put it over Abel’s.

Abel smiled kindly at him, threading his fingers through Credence’s. Credence relaxed against him, tucking his head into the crook of his friend’s shoulder.

He smiled.

Not so alone then, actually.


	13. Chapter 13

When Abel finally left his bedroom, having spent the last ten minutes anxiously fretting over what to wear (after all, he wanted to look his absolute best for his boy), he had to admit he was more than a little surprised to see Credence sitting with none other than Alma Trelawney.

They both turned to him when he opened the door, Alma peering intently at him over the rim of her spectacles.

The second that passed between them felt like an eternity; dear Son of God, this woman made Abel feel very uneasy.

Fortunately, she looked away almost immediately, but Credence’s gaze lingered. He’d been frowning when he turned around, but he positively brightened as Abel left his room. Abel smiled back instantly, though he wondered if the strange woman made Credence uncomfortable too.

Perhaps a nice walk would do them both good. Hopefully, when they returned, the strange woman would either be leaving or gone.

It wasn’t that Abel didn’t like her – well, he didn’t know her enough yet to decide whether he liked her not – he just… he just felt odd with her there.

Credence had turned back to Alma Trelawney.

Alma touched Credence’s cheek, and then she leaned forward to whisper something to him, and then she was rising from her seat – Beatrice’s seat – and before Abel knew it she had left the room without another word.

As she passed him, he caught a whiff of her perfume – quite nice. Soft, floral, not too pungent that it left a tickle in his nose. Sara wore a similar scent.

Abel walked over to Credence. He ignored Beatrice’s chair (she’d kill him if she ever saw him sitting in it), in favour of sitting beside Credence on their little couch.

Credence was frowning again. To Abel’s dismay, he was also chewing fervently on his bottom lip.

Abel’s gaze lingered slightly on his lips; the feminine pink hue, the way his teeth dragged slightly across his bottom lip before disappearing back inside his mouth, the little marks left behind…

Dear Son of God, Abel wanted to kiss those lips so bad.

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Now was not the time.

He put a hand on Credence’s knee, giving it a little squeeze.

“Are you feeling all right, Credence?” Abel asked his boy. “You seem… troubled.”

Credence licked his lips, slightly distracting Abel again. He turned his head to face Abel’s fully, and he smiled, but there was something in his eyes that Abel couldn’t quite read.

He lifted his hand to put it over Abel’s.

Abel smiled at his boy, threading his fingers through Credence’s. Credence relaxed against him, tucking his head into the crook of Abel’s shoulder.

As the weeks had passed, as Credence had begun to come out of his shell, Abel had been delighted to discover how affectionate his sweet boy could be. He reminded Abel of… of a kindhearted cat; the way he padded curiously around the little apartment, the way he ever so delicately picked at his food, the way he curled against Abel when they sat together on the little couch.

Like now.

Credence’s elbow was digging slightly into Abel’s arm. Abel raised his arm to wrap it around his boy’s shoulder, allowing for better comfort for the two of them.

He could feel Credence’s lips against his neck.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, his voice a little softer than it had been before. 

“I’m fine,” Credence said softly, his lips brushing ever so gently over Abel’s skin.

“Okay,” Abel’s voice came out as a slight squeak, as he tried to focus on not hyperventilating right then and there.

Dear God, he was gone.

Absolutely gone for this beautiful boy.

Abel’s hand tightened around Credence’s.

He wanted to kiss him so much.

He could. Right then and there, he absolutely could.

Credence was so close. All he had to do was lean down, just a little, and their lips would meet.

No. No, he couldn’t.

Credence would gasp, and flinch away. Either that, or he would push Abel away. Abel couldn’t decide then which would be more heartbreaking.

He couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t abuse their friendship like that.

And… he couldn’t do that to his own heart.

But…

What if Credence didn’t push him away?

What if he kissed Abel back?

What if it only took him a moment, just a moment of surprise, before his own arms wrapped around Abel’s neck, and his own lips softened against Abel’s as he began to kiss back? What if Abel could hold him the way he’d seen partners hold each other out on the street; his arms around Credence’s slim waist, holding Credence against his chest as he kissed him? 

What if he could brush his thumb just slightly over Credence’s bottom lip, before threading his fingers through that sleek, silky soft hair, to tug on it ever so gently? What if he then slid his hand down to curl around the back of Credence’s neck, his other hand tucked just under Credence’s chin, holding him in place as Abel kissed him and kissed him…

If Abel didn’t stop, he was either going to start crying or get hard right there on the couch.

Or both.

He couldn’t decide then which scenario would be most horrifying.

Credence snuggled slightly against Abel, lifting his feet up to tuck them against his side. His knee pressed against Abel’s. When he exhaled, Abel could feel it against his skin.

Okay. This had to stop now.

“Hey,” Abel’s voice broke slightly. He cleared his throat. “Hey, Credence.”

Credence lifted his head. “Hmm?”

They were so close.

Abel cleared his throat again, chuckling nervously. He smiled at his friend.

Credence nuzzled back against him, looking up at him with his pretty brown eyes through his pretty dark eyelashes, smiling his usual sweet smile as he patiently waited for Abel to continue.

Gone.

Abel coughed again. “Say, um… weren’t we going to go for a walk?” He asked Credence, giving him a friendly nudge. “As much as I’d like to, we can’t spend the rest of the day on the couch.”

“It’s only the beginning of the day,” Credence giggled.

Abel laughed back. “Exactly.”

Credence giggled again.

Abel patted his friend’s knee. “Come on, really. It’s a nice day today, and I could use a little fresh air. You could too, actua…”

Wait.

Credence raised his eyebrows. “Is everything okay, Abel?”

Abel held up a finger. “Hold on a moment.”

He closed his eyes and thought back, back to the night he’d met Credence, and then from there he thought onwards.

Abel was so often busy with work, and so were his friends. When Beatrice had left, that had only meant more work, and so the only time the friends really got to spend with time with each other were in the mornings, at night for dinner, and then on days off like today. And when Abel got to spend time with Credence it was always in their apartment. He’d never gone out with Credence before, usually because it was either too frosty or because he much preferred just to cuddle on the little couch, and talk or read or just rest silently and listen to records on the gramophone.

He’d never put much thought into it before now, because the subject had never really come up. But… how could he have never realized?

“Credence…” Abel began slowly.

“Yes?” Credence smiled at him.

Abel turned to his boy. “When… when was the last time you left the apartment?”

Credence’s eyes widened slightly, and then his smile fell. He averted Abel’s gaze, staring off into a distant corner of the room. Abel could tell Credence was thinking the same things he had.

Credence cleared his throat. He turned back to Abel, smiling sheepishly.

“I haven’t,” he said softly.

*

“Beatrice?” Abel had to say it a few times before his friend turned her attention to him. She and Tina Goldstein had been speaking in hushed voices when he entered the kitchen – private business, probably. But maybe not, he thought, considering Sara was sitting right there.

Sara smiled at him when he appeared in the doorway, hand in hand with his boy. He grinned back.

“Vot is it, Abel?” Beatrice turned to face him. “Iz everything alright?”

“Oh, yes, yes it’s fine,” Abel smiled at her. “Credence and I are just going to take a walk.” 

Beatrice and Tina shared a glance. Alma Trelawney, sitting next to Beatrice, raised her eyebrows at them.

“A valk?” Beatrice raised her eyebrows at Tina before turning back to Abel. “Are you sure that…”

“That what?” Abel asked, slightly confused. “What do you mean?”

Beatrice looked like she wanted to say more, but then she shook her head, relaxing back in her seat. “Oh, nothing,” she waved her hand. “Just… be safe, Abel.”

Her gaze drifted to Credence, and then her jaw tightened slightly, as if she were gritting her teeth.

Credence’s hand tightened around Abel’s.

Abel glanced down at his friend. Was it just his imagination, or had he gone a little pale? Though Credence had gained a little colour over the weeks, he was still so pale it was almost hard to tell.

The room suddenly felt very awkward.

“O-okay, we’re going to head off now,” Abel said quickly, before tugging Credence out of the kitchen. He heard his boy exhale as they walked out of Beatrice’s sight.

At the door, Credence stopped him.

He seemed very nervous. He wouldn’t meet Abel’s gaze. 

Abel touched his cheek. “Is everything okay?”

“I…” Credence took a shaky breath, peering up at Abel through furrowed brows. “I, um…”

“Hey,” Abel gave his friend’s hand a little squeeze. “If you feel too nervous, that’s okay. We don’t have to go out. We could just stay–“

“No,” Credence cut him off, lifting his head to look at Abel fully. “No, I d-do want to go outside, I… it’s just that I-I…”

He trailed off. Abel squeezed his hand.

“I a-am… nervous,” Credence said quietly. “But.. I’ll be okay. I w-would like to go outside, with you.”

Abel beamed at that last bit, “with you”. “I’ll always be right beside you,” he said reassuringly. “Every step of the way.”

Credence smiled at him. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

Abel realized then he didn’t have his jacket. He stepped awkwardly back to the little couch, snatched up his jacket, and then returned to Credence’s side.

“Okay,” Abel said again, smiling at his friend. “Are you ready to go?”

“Um… yes,” Credence smiled bravely.

He took Abel’s hand.

“Okay, then!” Abel grinned at him. “Let’s go.”

He put his hand on the doorknob. Credence squeezed his other hand, the one still tightly entwined with his boy’s.

“Wait!”

They both turned.

Tina Goldstein stood in the doorway. She stepped over to them, looking a little sheepish.

She stopped before Credence. They smiled at each other.

“You’re going out?” She said, both a question and a statement. She turned to Abel.

“Yes,” Abel replied, smiling at her. “Just for a walk. Nothing big.”

Her lips twitched slightly, as though she wanted to smile back, but she frowned instead. She looked back at Credence, now seeming concerned.

She put a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you going to be alright?” She asked gently, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Do…” she glanced at Abel for a moment. “Do you think you’ll be safe?”

Abel cocked his head, confused. “Of course he’ll be safe,” he cut in, a little indignantly. “He’ll be with me.”

He didn’t know what she meant. Credence knew what she meant.

“I’ll be okay, Miss Tina,” Credence hoped he sounded reassuring. “I promise.”

“Hmm,” Tina turned again to Abel. “You’ll keep him safe?”

“Yes,” Abel said, smiling down at his boy. “Of course I will.”

“He will, Miss Tina,” Credence said to her. “He’s my friend.”

Tina beamed then, at both Credence and Abel.

She was quite pretty, Abel thought then.

And she seemed kind. Even if she did harbour feelings for Credence, and… even if Credence harboured feelings for her, Abel was at least glad that his boy had a friend.

“Okay, I’ll let you go,” Tina looked a little awkward herself. “Take… take care.”

“We will,” Abel smiled reassuringly.

“Thank you,” Tina smiled back, before turning back to Credence.

“Take care, sweetheart,” she said gently. “I’ll see you soon.”

Before Credence could reply, she'd turned swiftly on her heel, and then she disappeared into the kitchen without a second glance.

He watched her go, almost sorrowfully. Raising a hand to his cheek, he traced lightly over the place where she’d touched him.

Abel squeezed his hand.

“Do you want to stay?” He asked.

Credence turned to him, his hand still on his cheek. “Pardon?”

“We don’t have to go out now,” Abel’s voice was light, but his eyes seemed sad, all of a sudden. Credence frowned, wondering how his friend was feeling.

“What do you mean?” Credence asked. “You seemed so excited to be taking me outside, a moment ago…”

“Yes, I am,” Abel’s voice was quiet. “I do want to, but if you want to stay, with Miss Goldstein…?”

“Oh, um,” Credence looked down, thinking, suddenly feeling torn. He did want to spend time with his old friend, but today was Abel’s day off. Abel always worked full days, but today he could spend the whole day with Credence, and Credence knew how he wanted to.

Beatrice knew Tina, he remembered. It seemed as though they were friends, or at least coworkers. And now that Tina knew where Credence was living it seemed unlikely that she would never come back. He knew she cared about him. He was certain she would return.

“I do want to spend time with Miss Tina,” Credence finally said. “But right now, I want to spend time with you. Let’s go for a walk, Abel.”

He squeezed Abel’s hand.

Abel beamed at him, his eyes sparkling. “Okay.”

He opened the front door, and then before he knew it they’d left the apartment. Credence had left the apartment.

The corridor was rather dim, most of the electric lamps set on the ceiling either flickering or having blacked out completely. The walls were beige, the patterned green carpet beneath their feet looking as though it had once been fine but was now raggedy and faded. Their apartment was at very end of the corridor, furthest from the stairs, it seemed. Standing outside of it, Credence felt odd, almost intimidated, as if he’d ventured into a complete different world than his own.

Abel led him down the corridor, his hand still clasped tightly around Credence’s. Credence didn’t speak, to busy taking in his new surroundings. Every door was the same, same colour, same design, the only difference being the iron numbers nailed to each one. Credence didn’t know their apartment number. He held on even tighter to Abel, thinking that if he accidently let go he would be lost forever.

Finally, they reached the stairs, and Abel slowed down so they could walk down side by side, hands still entwined. Down, down, down they went, the journey seeming as though it would never end. It felt like hours since they’d left the apartment, though in reality it had only been a few minutes.

They had almost reached the bottom before Credence realized he was holding his breath.

He exhaled heavily, suddenly feeling light-headed. Was it just him, or was the air suddenly too warm, the walls suddenly too tight? He swayed slightly on his feet, almost tripping down the next stair.

Abel grasped his shoulder tightly, turning Credence around to face him. His brows were furrowed; he seemed concerned.

“Is everything alright, Credence?” He asked. He took Credence’s hand.

Credence leaned slightly against him, trying to steady his breathing.

He was going outside. He should be excited, should be eager, after spending so many so weeks cooped up in the stuffy little apartment, but instead he only felt panic.

He had no idea what it was going to be like. The last he remembered of being outside, he hadn’t been himself, but that horrible mass of dark magic. The devil’s work, his ma had always called him. He was evil, a spawn of Satan himself, and when he died it would the flames of hell that awaited him in the afterlife, rather than the pearly gates of Heaven.

He’d destroyed buildings. He’d killed people.

It had been months since then, but what had become of the city? Was he wanted? Was his face printed on posters scattered through the streets? Those frightening people who had hurt him in the subway, were they still out there? Were they looking for him?

Come to think of it, what had happened to Mister Graves?

Credence hadn’t killed him that night.

He’d wanted to, or the evil inside him had wanted to.

He’d betrayed Credence, the one person he thought had cared about him had betrayed him in the worst possible way, and that night in the subway Credence had been set to kill him, to tear him apart the way he’d torn Credence apart.

He would’ve have killed him, he knew, if Miss Tina hadn’t stopped him.

But she had stopped him.

Which meant, as far as he knew, that Percival Graves was still alive.

And as far as Credence knew, Percival Graves still lived in New York.

What if he saw him again, and the monster arose again? He hadn’t felt it since the night Abel had found him; hadn’t felt the thrumming under in his skin, almost as if the darkness were coiling itself around his own organs and bones.

It had been a part of him. It could just as well be a part of him again.

Abel held Credence against him, running his fingers through Credence’s silky black hair.

Credence didn’t want to hurt anyone.

Abel kissed his forehead gently. Credence squeezed his hand.

He didn’t want to hurt Abel.

He pulled away slightly, creating some room to look down at himself. New clothes, new shoes, new hair. Even his face had changed, in the time that he’d spent with Abel and his new friends. His eye were bright, his smile was wider, his cheeks had a little colour. He was more casual with his actions, with his behaviours and mannerisms. Talking had come back to him so easily, considering how long it had been since he’d spoken. He even held himself a little differently, no longer feeling the need to hunch over as he walked or sat, almost as if he was trying to protect himself from the rest of the world. 

Perhaps he wasn’t as different as he imagined himself to be, but he was sure the boy he was now was a far cry from the boy he’d been before. Even if Percival was out there, surely if he’d been looking for him at the start he would’ve stopped by now?

And even if he was still searching for him, even after the months that had passed, Percival would be looking for the anxious, broken boy he’d been, not the stronger, more confident, pink-cheeked man he’d begun to grow into under the love and care of his new friends.

Perhaps he wasn’t searching for Credence at all. The way those frightening people had hurt Credence in the subway, the way he’d been ripped apart from the pain, he was sure they had been trying to destroy him. Perhaps they thought he was dead. Perhaps Percival thought he was dead.

Perhaps there was no need to worry at all.

Abel squeezed Credence’s hand again. Credence squeezed back, lifting his head to meet his friend’s concerned gaze.

“I’m okay,” he said softly, looking down again to rest his head against Abel’s chest. “I’m sorry. I’m okay.”

“Oh, no, don’t apologize,” Abel patted the top of his head. “It’s fine. I imagine you feel a little nervous.”

“Yeah,” Credence managed a little laugh. “I-I am, but I’m okay.”

“Okay,” Abel smiled at him.

Credence smiled back.

Hands still clasped, they walked the rest of the way down the stairs to the first floor. The eleven steps from the stairway to the front door felt like one thousand, and Credence’s legs felt heavier with every step he took, but at the same time the same distance seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, and then before Credence knew it Abel’s hand was on the door.

Abel pushed open the door.

They walked through the door.

Credence was outside.


	14. Chapter 14

It was bright, much brighter than he would’ve thought, considering the early hours of the morning, and it took Credence’s eyes several moments to adjust to the sudden sunlight.

Everything looked… normal.

They were standing on the sidewalk. The sidewalk led to a curb, which led to a street. There were cars on the street, and people were walking both on this sidewalk and on the sidewalk across the street. Along the street there were large apartment buildings like the one Credence had just left, but there were also big houses, small houses, and then there were some completely empty plots of hand were little black children played in the overgrown grass.

Credence looked around again, realizing then that almost everyone walking along the road was black, and those who weren’t were either walking hurriedly in groups or were walking among the black people.

His ma had told him about places like this. There were several neighbourhoods like this scattered across the city, reserved mainly for black people and immigrants so the whites didn’t have to live among them. They were unfavourable places, she’d told him, full of debauchery and thuggery and evil.

But, looking around, Credence realized again how wrong she was about such people. The black people walking along the pavement on either sides of the street were doing just that – walking. The children were just playing. Couples held hands or walked with their arms around each other. Mothers pushed their babies in a pram or carried them in a sling around their back. People entering their houses pushed open the gate and opened the door with a key. He saw an old black man hobbling along with a cane. He saw an old black couple lounging in seats in the front garden of their house.

There wasn’t anything particularly special about them, but there was nothing he could see to prove that they were as wicked and primitive as his mother had always said they were. From what he could see, they were all just people, just normal people going about their normal daily business.

He looked back at Abel.

Abel smiled at him. “How are you feeling?”

Credence took a deep breath before answering. The air was warm, but not too warm, and when he inhaled the faint scent of flowers tickled his nose.

He squeezed Abel’s hand. “I feel good.”

“Wonderful,” Abel beamed at him, and then he started to walk. “Come on,” he grinned, tugging Credence behind him.

“Where are we going?” Credence asked, skipping slightly to match Abel’s excited pace.

Abel grinned again, a twinkle in his eye. “I was thinking we could start off with a little morning tea,” he said cheerfully,“and I know just the place!”

Credence cocked his head curiously, but Abel just laughed and started walking faster, his hand still wrapped tightly around Credence’s own.

He led Credence down several streets, venturing further away from the neighbourhood until white people began to dominate the streets, and it was the black people that walked in their little groups.

Abel let go of Credence’s hand then, and slowed his pace until they were walking casually. Several people they passed waved at or greeted Abel, and Abel waved at and greeted others. Credence kept close to his friend’s side, feeling slightly alien in the familiar yet somehow strange city. After so many weeks cooped up indoors, the outside world suddenly seemed so much larger than he remembered, the air so fresh it almost seemed to suffocate.

Credence kept his hands in his pockets, trying to refrain from taking Abel’s hand again.

Yes, Credence had spent much of his life under a veil, but he understood the complications that could ensue if he did indeed act on his wishes. Even in this decade, in this modern era of new music, new fashions, new idealisms even, relationships formed between the whites and the blacks was still highly frowned upon by many in the current society.

As Abel had told him once, there were many people who had formed groups based solely on ridding America of the people they deemed “Impure” or a “threat to society”, one of them referring to themselves as the Ku Klux Klan. These “threats” included black people, Jewish people, and even Catholic people, Abel had said. Abel and Sara, being both black and Jewish, and Beatrice as well, being Jewish and an immigrant, were all particularly vulnerable to such people. More than once had Abel been approached and assaulted as he walked down the street, even when in the company of other people.

Credence discreetly stepped a little closer to his friend, just enough to gain a more suitable closeness but still retain a reasonable enough distance. He felt protective, all of a sudden, over his friend. Even when he’d been a monster, even when he hadn’t spoken, even when he’d taken Abel’s very bed, Abel had spent the last two months caring for Credence and making him feel safe.

Credence cared deeply about Abel. He hoped Abel felt safe with him too.

Perhaps it would be different for them, he thought then. They were both men, so the idea of romance (a far more scandalous affair than interracial friendship) would hardly cross one’s mind. And even though many people were still very racist,there still many other people who’d modernized their views and opinions to fit with the modern era. Yes, interracial friendship was still quite frowned upon, but it wasn’t a crime these days. Abel would no sooner be taken to prison for their friendship than Credence would wake up one morning with blond hair.

Still, Credence thought, his eyes lingering over Abel’s soft brown hand as it swung by his side, he didn’t want to put his friend in danger.

Abel lifted his hand then, and set it upon Credence’s shoulder. He stopped walking, and Credence stopped with him.

“Welcome!” Abel swung his arm out grandly, gesturing to the building they’d stopped in front of.

Credence looked up, his worrisome thoughts disappearing at the sight. Before them stood a pretty little building, of quaint design, painted white. The sign above the doorway read “Kowalski’s Quality Baked Goods.”

A bakery.

Even with the door closed, Credence could smell the treats the bakery undoubtedly sold.

“Kowalski’s?” Credence smiled, turning to his friend. “This is the bakery where you work!"

“Yes,” Abel grinned at him. “We finally opened, just last week actually, but I’ve been meaning to take you here for a while. Never seemed to have the time, unfortunately…”

“Last week?” Credence felt surprised, thinking back to all the times Abel had brought home pastries and treats. “You mean you weren’t open all this time?"

“Oh, I never actually told you, did I?” Abel looked surprised himself. “No, this whole time we’ve been building, decorating, painting, the whole shebang. It’s been Jacob Kowalski’s,” Abel indicated the sign, “dream to have a bakery almost his whole life, but it was only a few months ago that he came into the money he needed.”

“Wait, but what about all the treats you brought home?” Credence asked. “Were they not leftovers from the end of the day?”

“No, not really,” Abel said. “Everyone helping to build the shop, we were more than just workers. We were also… test subjects, you could say, for Jacob. When he wasn’t working on the shop itself he was baking, and we got to try everything he made. Sometimes we took samples out on trays around the city, both to get feedback from the public and to advertise the upcoming bakery, and anything leftover we got to take home. By the time the bakery actually opened, last week, pretty much the whole city was anticipating it, and it was so crowded the first day that Jacob ran out of stock twice!"

“No!” Credence imagined that must’ve been very stressful, but Abel was laughing, so it must’ve been more humourous than upsetting.

“Yes,” Abel chuckled. “But luckily we had full staff that day, so everyone baked like crazy while we closed for lunch.”

When Abel opened the door, a bell rung overhead. Credence jumped slightly at the noise, and Abel laughed, holding the door open for Credence to enter before him.

“It’s a funny story, actually,” Abel chuckled as they walked into the shop. “About where he got the money. You know, Jacob used to work at a canning factory, and one day when he was leaving work a man bumped into him, and he dropped his suitcase. When he picked it up again, it was suddenly full of silver!

Credence snorted – half shocked and half amused. “Really?” He asked, wondering for a moment if Abel was pulling his leg.

“Really!” Abel exclaimed. “Crazy, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Credence agreed. He turned away, looking about the shop, breathing in deeply; if there was a heaven, Credence was sure it would smell just like this.

It was a delightful little place, crowded though it was. Several tables were set up near the window, and shelves of pastries adorned the opposite wall. Before them stood the counter, where more pastries and cakes sat in glass cases or on tiered stands. A jolly-looking fat man stood behind the counter, smiling at a customer as he handed them a brown paper-wrapped package. When he saw Abel, his smile only brightened.

“Abel!” The man beckoned them over as the customer walked away. “Good morning!”

“ _Shalom_! And good morning to you!” Abel grinned in return, walking up to the counter. Credence, having grabbed hold of the end of Abel’s vest, trailed a little shyly behind him.

“So, uh, what are you doing here?” The jolly man asked Abel. “It’s your day off, right?”

“Yes,” Abel chuckled, slipping his hands into his pockets. “But I thought it was about time I brought my friend to the bakery, and why not on my day off? That way I can spend time with him while we’re here.”

“Ah,” the man turned to Credence and grinned, extending a hand to shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Abel’s friend. And your name is…?”

“Oh, apologies,” Abel cut in before Credence could reply. “Credence, this is Jacob Kowalski, owner of this bakery.”

Credence smiled shyly at Mr Kowalski, accepting his offer. Jacob shook his hand vigorously.

“And Jacob,” Abel put a hand on Credence’s shoulder. “This is my friend Credence.”

“Ah, yes,” Jacob grinned at Credence. “Anyway, I suppose you’re a customer today, aren’t you?” He smiled at them both. “Well then, what would youse like to eat?”

“Hmm…” Abel leaned slightly back on his heels, thinking. Credence wandered away, his curiousity overcoming his shyness in his new environment.

He looked around the shelves and into the glass cases, smiling in delight at what he found. As well as the classic baked goods any bakery had to offer – breads, cakes, muffins, pastries – Jacob Kowalski had also crafted what seemed to be his own creations: strange little pastry animals.

Credence looked around in amusement at all of them. They were quite unlike any animals he’d ever seen before, appearing to be almost out of a story: snakes with wings, giant horned beasts with bulging foreheads, curious little creatures with long beaks and stumpy legs, more curious creatures with long shaggy “fur” and owl-like eyes.

Abel appeared beside him.

“Wonderful, aren’t they?” Abel asked, grinning. “They’re of Jacob’s own design, though I don’t know where he gets his ideas.”

“Mmm…” Credence hummed in agreement, smiling. “They’re lovely.”

Credence picked one of the little long-beaked creatures, as well as a chocolate muffin. Abel chose some _paczki_ donuts, some jam tarts, and a large _challah_ bread.

“We’ll save these for Sara,” Abel said, holding up the donuts. “And we’ll save the bread for after dinner. Now that Beatrice has come home, I’m going to prepare a feast!”

“I’ll help!” Credence said eagerly, remembering how he’d planned the previous night to cook for Beatrice once she’d returned.

“Wonderful!” Abel beamed at Credence, lifting a hand to give his shoulder a squeeze.

Mr Kowalski offered to let them have their treats “on the house”, but Abel insisted on paying.

“Today, we are customers,” he said to Jacob as he handed over several notes. “You can give me free food tomorrow.”

They both laughed.

“Shall we go?” Abel asked Credence, as they turned away from the counter.

“Okay,” Credence replied. He liked the little shop, but he found he much rather preferred to step back outside. He wanted to soak up as much as he could of the gentle morning sunshine, breathe in as much as he could of the fresh air, before they returned to their little apartment.

The bell rang again when they opened the door, but thankfully Credence didn’t jump this time. Again, Abel held the door open for Credence, and they left the shop together.

A very pretty black woman, dressed head to toe in pink, stood in front of the shop, peering through the window. She looked to be about Credence’ own age, and for a moment he thought her to be a little familiar, though he couldn’t recall ever seeing her before.

What she saw inside the shop must’ve excited her, because she suddenly gave a little squeal of delight, and then before Credence even noticed her move she had darted past them into the building, the bell ringing again as she entered.

Credence and Abel glanced at each other, and then Abel gave a little shrug.

“She must really like pastries,” he chuckled.

They walked down the street, much slower than they had before, now that they had no real destination. Credence preferred it this way, just being able to walk lazily and enjoy the sun on his skin.

It was a very warm day, considering it was only the middle of March. Summer was a long way off yet, but now, the weather was very nice.

They ended up sitting on a bench nearby a little café. Abel bought them tea; it came in two little paper cups. Dixie cups, Credence remembered they were called. His ma had often stocked up on them for Sunday sermons, rarely feeling bothered to have to spend an hour afterwards washing all the china.

Well, she rarely washed anyway, mainly leaving the chores and labours to Credence and his sisters. In her mind’s eye, a child’s role was to respect and uphold their parent’s/guardian’s wishes and commands, even though any wishes or commands the children may have had were often blatantly ignored.

The tea was nice, though perhaps a bit too bitter, but Credence didn’t complain. It balanced out the sweetness of their treats, anyhow.

Speaking of treats, the little pastry creature Credence had chosen was delicious. Crafted of sweet, zesty dough, it had an orange marmalade center, blueberry eyes, and a fine sticky glaze. Mr Kowalski was a positive culinary genius.

The pair ate mostly in silence – in fact, they’d spent most of their walk so far in silence. Abel piped up once to ask him how his treats were, to which Credence replied: “tasty”, and then again to point out the cuteness of a small dog, but other than that they didn’t speak.

It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. They didn’t really have much to talk about, and they were both already so perfectly content with just each other’s company that they didn’t really need to talk aloud, so they just didn’t.

After finishing their treats, they walked around for a little while longer, admiring window displays and venturing into bookstores, petting small dogs they came across and watching a street artist as he scribbled designs and landscapes over the pavement with his set of pastel chalks. Before Credence knew it, almost two hours had passed, and it was time to go home for lunch.

Credence felt slightly rueful as they approached the apartment building. The time had passed by so quickly, that he almost sorry to return to the little apartment. Surely now, after having spent the morning in the wide open city, it would seem so much littler.

Abel seemed to read his thoughts, for he took Credence’s hand.

“We can go out again, later, if you’d like,” he smiled. “And we can take Sara with us. It’s been a while since we’ve had a casual walk.”

“I’d like that,” Credence smiled back, giving Abel’s hand a squeeze.

Once again, Abel held the door open for Credence, allowing Credence to enter before him. Credence took one last breath of the fresh, warm air, before stepping hesitantly through the doorway.

It was much stuffier inside than he’d remembered, and it took Credence a moment to get used to the warm, musty air. Already he missed how it had felt to be outside.

They walked slowly up to their apartment, hand in hand. At the door, Credence hesitated again, but he stepped obediently into the apartment after Abel.

It was so little. So cramped. Credence had already known this, but now, after spending all that time in the wide, open outdoors, their tiny apartment just seemed all the more tinier.

It was a good thing the door opened outwards, he thought then. If it had opened into the apartment, they might not have been able to enter at all, what with how close the couch was to the doorway.

As Credence’s swept eyes around the rest of the little room, they stopped on the blue coat slung over the back of Beatrice’s chair, and then on the person standing beside it, and his thoughts came to a halt.

Miss Tina was still here.

Credence stared at her, feeling both happy and a little surprised. Of course, he was glad to see his friend, but he felt confused. They’d been gone for two hours. He would’ve thought she would’ve left by now.

Perhaps, he thought on a whim, Miss Tina had stayed _because_ they’d gone for a walk. Perhaps she hadn’t wanted to leave without saying a proper goodbye.

She’d been flicking through a book when they entered, but she looked up as they walked through the door, instantly beaming at Credence.

Credence smiled back.

Abel didn’t notice her at first, having turned to close the door behind them, but when he did finally see Tina he jumped.

“Miss… Miss Goldein?” Abel couldn’t quite remember her last name, but using her first name felt too casual, considering they’d barely just met.

She laughed. “It’s Goldstein, but please, call me Tina."

Abel chuckled. “Alright then, Tina… if you don’t mind me asking,” Abel hoped his next question wouldn’t seem rude, “why… um…”

“Oh, yes,” Tina, looking a little awkward, finished the question for him. “I-I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m still here, Mr Fried.”

“Yes,” Abel said sheepishly. “I apologize, Tina, I just thought that… that you might’ve left by now.”

“Yes, about that…” Tina set her book down, before walking over to them. “You see, Mr Fried – ow!”

Unused to the smallness of the room, she’d hit her kneecap on the corner of the table. Credence couldn’t help it – he started laughing, and then Tina started laughing too, as she hobbled the rest of the way over to them.

She met Credence’s eyes. Her eyes were kind, and they sparkled when she looked at him, the same way Abel’s did.

For a moment, all she did was smile at Credence, and all he did was smile back, but then with a little sigh she took him into her arms.

She held him tightly, one hand on his upper back and the other cradling the back of his neck. Credence relaxed immediately against her, tucking his head into the crook of her shoulder.

He hadn’t known her very long, or very well, but she’d always made him feel safe.

When they released each other, Credence noticed immediately how awkward Abel looked. Their eyes met, and then Abel began to step away, mumbling something about leaving them to their privacy.

Credence began to object, but then Tina cut him off.

“No, no, Mr Fried,” she smiled at Abel. “Please stay, I would like to talk to you both.”

Credence relaxed at her words, grinning at Abel. He felt so at home with Abel there, so much happier than he would be even if his friend were only in the next room. When Abel slid back beside him, grinning at Credence, Credence slipped his hand into his.

Abel squeezed his hand.

Tina cleared her throat. “Before I begin, I hope you don’t think I’m imposing, Mr Fried-“

“No, not at all,” Abel waved her off, smiling politely at her. “Though I apologize for making you wait so long. How come you didn’t try to talk to us before we left?”

“Oh, well, about that,” Tina looked embarrassed. “You see, uh, I only thought to bring this up after you’d gone out the door.”

“Ah, of course,” Abel chuckled. “Funny how things work like that. Anyway, what is it you’d like to discuss? Should I make some tea?”

“Oh, no need,” Tina waved her hand. “This will be quick. I can only stay for so long, anyhow.”

She smiled at him.

Abel smiled back, deciding then officially that he did like this woman. She seemed very kind, from what Abel had seen so far. He would like to get to know her better, perhaps even become friendly with her.

He’d leave Alma Trelawney to Beatrice, though.

“Mr Fried,” Tina began. “I… I want to thank you, for taking care of Credence.”

Credence had been looking at Abel, but he turned to Tina when she said his name.

He smiled at her.

She smiled back.

“He’s been through so much, I…” Tina’s voice broke slightly, and she cleared her throat again. “I have blamed myself for so long for not taking care of him when I could.”

“It’s okay,” Credence spoke up, reaching his hand out to touch hers. “Miss Tina, it’s okay.”

Tina smiled sadly, taking his hand and squeezing it. She raised her other hand; touched his cheek.

“I’m so glad he’s found a home, with you Mr Fried,” Tina continued to Abel, though her eyes were only on Credence. “You seem to really care about him.”

“I do,” Abel squeezed Credence’s hand. Credence squeezed back. “I care very much about Credence.”

Credence turned to look at Abel, smiling. Abel noted then how much he loved the dimple in Credence’s cheek.

Tina grinned at them, laughing slightly. She looked so happy, so relieved, and when she turned back to Credence her smile only brightened.

She hugged him again, holding him against her in the way a mother might hold their child. Credence wrapped his arms around her waist, closing his eyes and smiling contentedly, as she cradled him against her shoulder.

She held him for a long time, rubbing her hand along his back and cooing softly into his hair.

When she finally pulled out of the embrace, Credence leaned forward slightly, almost seeming to chase after her touch.

Abel took his hand.

“Okay, I’d better go,” Tina sniffed a little, wiping her eyes.

Abel hadn’t even realized she’d started crying. He put a hand on her shoulder, giving it a little squeeze.

She smiled at the two of them, though mostly at Credence.

“I’ll come to see you again, soon, if you like?” She asked him.

Credence smiled back. “I would like that very much, Miss Tina.”

She beamed, though her smile faded slightly as she turned to Abel. “Would that be alright?” She asked him. “I wouldn’t want to show up uninvited.”

“Of course not,” Abel replied without hesitation. “Any friend of Credence, or Beatrice, is a friend of mine,” he smiled kindly at her. “You are always welcome, at any time you’d like. Goodness knows Credence could use a companion during the day. We are all usually very busy, with work, you see.”

“Ah, yes,” Tina nodded. “I’m usually very busy too, more so now that I’ve been promoted,” she grinned as she said it. “Re-promoted, really.”

“But…” she turned back to Credence. “I actually do have some time off, now, for a week or so. I would love to be able to spend time with you, Credence.”

She smiled at him. Credence smiled back, reaching out to take her hand.

“I would like that too,” he replied.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, trigger warning for heavy mentions of rape in this chapter and the next. For those of you sensitive to the topic, please proceed with caution if you intend to keep reading. My best to you. :)

Sara had to admit, she had been more than a little surprised when Abel had announced he was taking Credence for a walk. Now that Beatrice had returned, on their day off no less, Sara would’ve thought Abel wouldn’t have let her out of his sight all day.

She wondered if, perhaps, it had something to do with their guest – Tina Goldstein. Sara knew how Abel felt about his younger friend – Credence, his real name was, as the polite young man had told her that morning. She knew that Abel was in love with Credence, and she had seen how Credence had looked at Tina, and how Tina had looked back at him. She had also seen how Abel looked at the both of them when they looked at each other.

She wondered if Abel felt jealous – no, she knew he felt jealous. Based on how he’d acted earlier in the kitchen, his insides were greener than the grassy fields of Ireland.

She didn’t think it was necessary to feel jealous – Sara was a very observant person, and the way Credence had looked at Tina, it had been in the way that a child might look at their mother. And when Tina had looked back at Credence, it had been in the way that a mother might look at her child. The two loved each other, Sara had immediately been able to tell, but it wasn’t in the way Abel was afraid of.

After the pair had left, Sara had made tea. Beatrice had pretty much fallen asleep the moment she collapsed into her chair, but Sara had still had two guests to take care of.

Sara really liked Tina Goldstein.

The moment she’d stepped through the door, Sara had been mesmerized. Not only because Beatrice had brought her to their home (Beatrice! Had brought guests! To their apartment!), but also because she was so beautiful. Her shiny black skin, her shy smile, the friendly glint in her dark eyes – she was the prettiest woman Sara had ever seen.

Sara had always been shy around people she didn’t know, so it was Tina that approached her to greet her properly, and let her know that Abel and Credence had gone for a walk. Sara had taken Beatrice into the kitchen for tea by then, and their other guest, Alma Trelawney, had joined them.

Alma Trelawney wasn’t as pretty as Tina Goldstein, but she had a certain charm of her own. She was a handsome woman, with manly shoulders and a strong jaw, and her sly half-smile made it seem to Sara like Alma was about to share with her a secret. Her eyes were bewitching, the colour reminding Sara of the ocean on a cloudy day.

She had been able to tell immediately that Abel didn’t like Alma. Sara had been a little worried herself when Alma stepped through the door – she’d had many unsavoury encounters with many white women in the past, and still had to deal with the very same bullshit even in this day and age – and Beatrice nodding off and leaving her to deal alone with two strangers in their apartment had only made her feel all the more anxious.

But the two women had both been very polite, and very friendly with Sara. They hadn’t seemed all that surprised when Sara started to scrawl out conversation in her notebook, but Tina had told her that Beatrice hadn’t told them she didn’t speak, so she guessed they were both just being polite.

She was glad they hadn’t made such a big deal out of things. People at the store always gawked at her whenever she whipped out her notebook, but her guests had just taken in the information and moved on with it, easy as pie.

Alma Trelawney had left only a few minutes after Abel and Osc-Credence, but not before downing almost half the tea in the kitchen, as well as reading Sara’s palm? At least, that’s what Alma had said she was doing, but all she had done was tickle Sara’s hand and babble some nonsense about blue paint and apple trees.

British people were odd, Sara had thought then.

Tina had stayed for much longer. After helping Sara put Beatrice to bed, they had sat together in the loveseat in the loungeroom, and gotten to know one another.

Sara hadn’t told Tina much – she wasn’t just about to blurt out her whole tragic life story to a woman she didn’t necessarily know. Telling Tina about how they met Beatrice, as well as the endless questions it would raise, was a story too long for the hour or two until her friends returned to the apartment, and telling Tina about why they all lived together in such a tiny apartment was a very personal tale that Sara wasn’t really ready to share with anyone yet, not to mention the whole reason why Abel and Sara were Jewish even though they were black. No, those were things Tina had to surpass at least phase five of friendship to know about.

So she told Tina some harmless little facts about herself; how she liked to draw (mainly animals), and how she collected hats, and how on a rainy day (if she had time) she liked to sit out on the upstairs terrace and let the rain wash away the disgusting meaty smells of the grocery store, and then come inside and let the warm fire sooth her aching bones. She told Tina about her job at the grocery store, about how much of an asshole her employer was and how she much preferred to work at Kowalski’s bakery on the weekends, and how much she wished that the idiot Harold would get fired already so she could apply for a full-time job in his place, but unfortunately Jacob was just too nice to fire anybody no matter how awful they were at their job.

“Kowalski?” Tina had asked, eyebrows raised. “You don’t mean… Jacob Kowalski, do you?”

Sara had nodded, and asked Tina if she knew him. She didn’t think she’d ever seen Tina at the bakery before, but then again Sara didn’t work there all that much, and they’d only just opened, anyhow.

“Well, not really,” Tina had replied. “I’ve only met him a handful of times, but my sister Queenie is very fond of him,” Tina had laughed. “She actually went to see him today, I think.”

 _Oh, really?_ Sara had smiled. _It’d be funny if they ran into each other. What’s she like?_

“Queenie? Oh, she’s hopeless!” Tina had laughed again. “She’s a– she’s very smart, very funny, yes, but oh, she’s so much like Abel. She’s so impulsive, falling in love left and right, but it seems like she’s ready to settle down with Mr Kowalski. She seems to really like him.”

 _Sounds like Abel, all right_ , she wrote down, giggling.

“But she’s very sweet, very charming,” Tina had continued. “And she’s a very good cook, so I’m sure you would all love her. I’ve heard you Jewish people are pretty big eaters,” she chuckled.

Sara had laughed with her. Tina hadn’t sounded neither menacing nor judgmental as she said it, so Sara was pretty sure she was just making a friendly joke. She was right, anyway – the only people who ate more than Jews would have to be the Greeks!

 _We don’t actually eat as much as you’d think,_ Sara had told Tina. _We’re not so rich. Of course, we have enough to eat every night, but it’s generally just enough to keep us going. The most we ever eat is probably during Sabbath, but that’s because we don’t eat for a whole day afterwards._

“Ah, yes,” Tina had nodded. “Beatrice has told me about Sabbath. I’d already known she was Jewish, but I didn’t know much about the holiday. I thought she just kept forgetting her lunch!”

Sara had laughed.

The two had talked for a while longer, about each other and about their friends. Tina was like Beatrice – not giving away too much about her personal life, but she was very friendly with Sara all the same. She was a little like Sara, too – living in a little apartment with her little family.

Sara really liked her.

She decided she would like to be able to spend more time with her too. And perhaps her sister too, someday, though she sounded perhaps a bit too lively for Sara to handle. People were exhausting to Sara for some reason, both emotionally and physically, and people as spirited and vivacious as Queenie sounded generally felt to Sara as though she were dealing with three people at once.

Abel was rather lively. Though Queenie sounded nice, and Sara wouldn’t mind meeting her, perhaps she and Abel would suit each other better when it came to friendship.

After a little while, Sara had gone to check on Beatrice. Her friend was sleeping soundly in her bed, still in her day clothes, drooling a little into her pillow.

Sara felt so happy to see her dear friend back home, back where she belonged. Sara had been so worried – she was so glad that Beatrice had come home safe.

Before she knew it, Sara had kicked off her shoes, and squeezed into the bed beside Beatrice. She tucked in under the covers, and wrapped her arms around her friend. She pressed her forehead to Beatrice’s, smiling as the older woman’s warm breaths mingled with her own.

And then, Sara had fallen asleep.

When she woke up, the little clock by the bed told her that two hours had passed. She hadn’t even realized she’d fallen asleep. Hadn’t it only been five minutes?

She jumped up out of the bed, not even bothering to slip her shoes back on, and hurried back into the lounge room.

Tina Goldstein was gone, it seemed, but Abel and Credence had returned. Abel was busy in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and slicing bread, what looked like roast lamb already cooking in the oven.

Credence was sitting at the table, snacking on cookies and tea and flipping through a recipe book.

“Oh, hi Sara!” Abel waved at her as she walked into the room. “Did you have a nice nap?”

Credence waved too, smiling. She smiled back, nodding at Abel.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned around to see Beatrice standing behind her.

Beatrice still looked very tired. The usual circles around her eyes were even darker and more prominent than usual, and her usually neat hair was a relative mess, and her smart clothes were all crumpled, but she was still their Beatrice, and she was home, and the sight of her standing there was the most beautiful thing Sara had ever seen.

She beamed at Beatrice. Beatrice smiled back, giving Sara’s shoulder a little squeeze before pulling the younger woman into a hug.

Sara sighed happily, resting her head against Beatrice’s chest. Beatrice closed her eyes, resting her chin on Sara’s crown, one hand tangling slightly into Sara’s undone hair.

Abel smiled at his friends. It was so good to have Beatrice back, so good to have all his loved ones home and safe.

Beatrice lifted her head, smiling at Abel just as he smiled at her.

“It’s good to be home,” she said again, curling her fingers through Sara’s.

*

After a delicious lunch of beef sandwiches, potato chips and salad, they all went for a walk.

The weather still seemed as nice as it had been when Abel and Credence returned from their first walk, so the two young men didn’t bother with their coats this time around. Beatrice disappeared into her room before they left, emerging just a few moments later looking newly refreshed, her usual jacket and skirt now stain-free and neatly pressed.

Abel had no idea how she did it, how she got ready so quickly. If he didn’t know any better he’d thought there might be some kind of magic involved.

But of course, that was ridiculous.

Or… maybe it wasn’t. Before he’d been a boy, Credence had been a sentient mass of black sand. How could there not be a little bit of magic in that?

Unless (and this was the likelier option) Abel had just been hallucinating the whole time, of course. Though he was pretty sure he hadn’t, Credence had shown no signs of reverting back to the black mass since that night, or of any other peculiarity besides choosing not to speak, and that ended yesterday. Credence was just a normal young man, and Beatrice was just a normal middle-aged woman, and Abel was just getting too worked about things as usual.

It took them a while to leave the apartment, Sara having spent the last ten minutes trying to decide on a hat before Beatrice finally lost patience and snatched one off the stand before pushing them all out the door.

Incidentally, the hat she’d grabbed had been a soft, pink cloche that happened to match the jacket Sara was wearing. Sara had laughed while Beatrice grumbled, and stood on tiptoe to kiss her friend’s cheek.

The four friends walked lazily through the streets, Sara and Beatrice in front and Abel and Credence trailing behind them, Sara munching away on the donuts Abel had bought for her. They eventually found themselves in Central Park, and the girls sat down on a bench to talk while Abel and Credence joined a small group of people watching a street performer.

The performer was a cheery, middle-aged man banging away on multiple… things attached to his body, creating a tremendous racket, but somehow retaining a sense of melody. Abel told him he was a “one-man band”, and did things like playing multiple instruments at once for money. Credence remembered seeing someone like once on his rounds, though that performer had only been playing one instrument at the time – the violin.

Neither Credence nor Abel thought the performer was very good, but Abel fished around in his pocket for change anyway, before tossing it into the man’s cap.

“I know what it’s like for people like him,” Abel said as they walked back to the girls. “Usually they’re not doing very well – that’s why they’re out performing on the street instead of working in a ‘real’ job,” Abel made talking marks with his fingers. “I sorta know what that’s like, and I know how hard it is to see so many people walk past and none of them pay you a second glance. So that’s why I try to be so nice to people, you know? I kinda try to put myself in their shoes.”

Credence stared at his friend for a second. “You used to perform on the street?”

“No,” Abel chuckled slightly, but it sounded a little bitter. “I… I know what it’s like to be on the street itself… depending on money from strangers.”

Credence stared at Abel for longer this time. “How… how long was that for? Do you mean you didn’t have a home?”

He took Abel’s hand.

Abel looked at him, his eyes meeting Credence’s own. He looked around, at the people walking past them.

“Not here,” he said, giving Credence’s hand a squeeze before letting go. Credence resisted the urge to reach out and take it again.

“I can tell you later, if you’d like,” Abel said. “I can tell you my story, and then maybe you can tell me yours.”

Credence’s breath hitched slightly. Abel… he wanted to know about Credence? He wanted to know what Credence had done?

Abel noticed his discomfort. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. And if you want me not to tell you about myself, you can tell me to stop anytime. Okay?”

Credence nodded, relaxing. He reached out bravely and touched Abel’s hand. “Okay.”

Abel smiled at him, curling his fingers through Credence’s. His hand felt so right in Credence’s own; it made Credence feel all warm inside.

Credence squeezed his hand.

Abel squeezed back.

When they found the girls again, they were still hunched intently over Sara’s notebook. Abel didn’t know what they were talking about, but he guessed Beatrice was wondering how they’d been while she’d been away.

They looked up as Abel and Credence walked towards them, hands still entwined.

Sara smiled at Credence.

Credence smiled back.

The friends spent a little more time wandering through the park, skipping stones on the biggest ponds and climbing some of the trees (Credence and Abel spotted a robin’s nest at the top of one tree, full of tiny perfect little blue eggs).

It was the perfect place to kiss him, Abel had thought. Alone together, obscured by branches, just sharing the moment of their little discovery – Abel could’ve kissed him right then and there.

But he didn’t.

Unfortunately, Abel was a hopeless romantic, and like many other hopeless romantics he was completely and utterly pathetic when it came to actual displays of affection.

So he didn’t kiss him, and then the moment had passed, and then before he knew it they were both clambering back down the tree to join the girls on the ground.

Abel was still brooding as they left the park. Credence treaded cheerfully beside him, smiling as though he’d just won a prize at the fair.

He was too pretty for his own good, damn it. If he could just stop being so pretty and perfect and sweet and good and kind and wonderful and perfect than this would all be so much easier for Abel.

But Credence _was_ perfect.

And Abel was in love.

And unfortunately, Lord and Saviour be damned, there was no way on Earth Abel could stop feeling this way.

Abel continued to sulk as they walked through the crowded city streets, but as they happened to pass a certain little store on their way to the bookshop, he found himself with an idea.

“My friends!” He beckoned them all to stop, indicating the store sign. “Why don’t we get some flowers too? This is a special occasion!”

Beatrice looked a little hesitant – she was very particular about how much they spent and what they spent it on, but Sara was already following Abel into the store, and that was generally enough persuasion for her.

The little store was packed top to bottom, side to side with pots and caskets of flowers, flowers everywhere, filling the air with their sweet scent, in every colour one could imagine. There were daffodils in bright yellow, daisies in white and pale pink, roses in every colour of the rainbow, nasturtiums, marigolds, bluebells, snowdrops, so many flowers.

Credence spun around, trying to take in everything at once. He didn’t think he’d ever seen something so beautiful. He’d forgotten such beauty could even exist.

Abel’s hand was suddenly on his shoulder, grounding him, returning him to reality.

Abel smiled at him, patting his shoulder. Credence smiled back, before wandering away to have a look at the different plants.

He liked the roses best of all, he decided. Their petals were soft and pretty, and he couldn’t resist leaning forward to breathe in their delicate scent.

Abel smiled when he noticed his boy, how much he seemed to like the little shop. He smiled wider when he noticed Credence’s affiliation with the roses.

Roses it was, then.

The flowers were pretty expensive, so Abel only bought two bouquets – pink roses for Credence, and a little selection of blue and orange flowers for Beatrice. Sara bought Beatrice flowers too; soft white carnations, and Beatrice bought a bunch of white and yellow daisies for her in return.

“Could you hold these, Credence?” Abel handed the roses to his boy, under the pretence that he only wanted the young man to hold them for a little while.

 _So smooth_ , he thought to himself, as Credence immediately dug his nose into the flowers and their gentle fragrance.

Soon after, once they’d finished browsing the bookstore (Sara had purchased several cheap notebooks, and Abel had bought a little cookbook of desserts for Credence), they decided to split up. Abel and Beatrice needed to buy groceries for dinner, and so Credence and Sara walked back home together, their arms full of flowers.

Credence held the two bouquets carefully, making sure not to squish their petals or crumple their wrapping. Sara clutched her bunch of daisies tightly in one hand, and but held the bouquet of carnations in her other arm just as delicately as Credence was with his flowers.

It didn’t take them long to reach the apartment building, as the bookstore had only been a few blocks away. As they headed down the street, Sara waved at an old Chinese couple walking hand in hand. Credence looked down at his own hand, wishing suddenly that Abel were there to hold it.

Once inside, Sara immediately put her two bouquets into separate jugs of water, and set them on the mantel above the fireplace. Credence would’ve done the same, but he decided to wait until Abel returned home, in case his friend had a different plan for the flowers he’d bought.

He set the two bouquets down gently on the table, and then headed into the kitchen to prepare some tea.

Sara smiled at him when he returned to the living room, two cups of tea in his hands and the cookie tin tucked under his arm.

She was standing at the little table by the front door, setting up a record on the gramophone. Before long, soft, jazzy music began to fill the room, and a lady began to sing in time with the rhythm.

Sara walked over to him, bobbing her head to the rhythm. She sat beside him on the loveseat, smiling again as he offered her a cup of tea.

“Who is this?” Credence asked, indicating the music. “It’s nice.”

Sara set her tea down on the coffee table, and reached into her pocket to pull out her notebook.

 _Josephine Baker_ , she told him. _She’s an actress and singer, one of my idols. I really look up to her._

Credence smiled at her. “I like it.”

Her lips twitched, but she didn’t smile fully, and when she leaned forward to keep writing in her notebook, her face turned completely serious.

 _So…_ she wrote slowly. _You’re speaking now?_

Credence swallowed, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He looked away from her, for some reason feeling like he was guilty of something.

Sara, realizing she must have seemed a little intimidating, touched his hand.

 _No, no, Credence, I’m not mad at you, or anything, s_ he wrote hastily. _It’s wonderful that you trust us enough to speak to us. And your voice is lovely._

Credence flushed when he read it, his lips twitching. “R-really?”

Sara nodded, grinning at him. _I’m not angry, Credence. I apologize. I’ve never been very good at talking to people. I hope I didn’t come across as rude._

In all honesty, Sara quite frankly didn’t give much of a damn about whether or not she made white people uncomfortable, but Credence was not just a white person. He was her friend.

“No, that’s okay, Sara,” Credence smiled back. “And yes, I’m speaking now. I don’t know, I… It wasn’t really the right time or anything. It just… slipped out.”

Sara chuckled. _Abel told me he almost jumped out of his skin._

Credence laughed. “Yeah.”

Sara shifted closer to him, her knee pressing against his. She took another sip of her tea.

“Sara,” Credence looked down at her. “Why… why did you stop speaking?

Sara flinched slightly, spilling a few drops of her tea. Credence clutched her hand.

“I-I’m sorry, you don’t have to-“ he stuttered hastily, but stopped when Sara lifted a finger.

 _No, it’s fine Credence,_ she wrote. _You don’t have to feel bad about asking me. I’m curious about why you stopped speaking too._

Credence looked down. Sara gave his hand a squeeze.

 _How about this,_ she began. _You tell me your story, and I’ll tell you mine?_

Credence swallowed, considering the offer. He hadn’t expected to ask such a personal question – he’d never been very good at talking to people either – or that she would ask him for his story in return. But of course, he couldn’t expect for her to tell him something so personal without him giving something in return. Even if it would be hard for him to talk about, he was certain whatever had taken her voice would be hard for her to talk about too.

Perhaps, once this was all over, they would have become better friends? Sara always seemed so distant, sometimes even with Abel, but he liked her, he really did, and he wanted to get closer to her. Perhaps this was how.

“Okay,” he finally said, offering her an encouraging smile.

She gave his hand another squeeze.

Okay.

“Well, um…” Credence cleared his throat. “See, I… I knew this man, once.”

Sara nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“Wait, no, um… Credence cleared his throat again. His mouth felt dry, really dry, all of a sudden.

He picked up his cup and downed the rest of his tea.

“Okay,” he began again. “You see, I used to live with my mother and sisters, but you see, my ma wasn’t very nice. And my sister Chastity wasn’t very nice either, but my other sister Modesty… we were close.”

Sara nodded again.

“She beat us, my ma, I mean,” Credence continued.

Sara’s tightened around his.

“There were a lot of us. Ma owned a church, but it was also an orphanage as well. She beat all of us, sometimes with a belt, sometimes with a spoon, sometimes a cane. And…”

Credence stopped, turning away, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

She’s not here, he reminded himself. She was dead, and Credence had friends now. Nice friends. Credence had people who loved him, people who would never hurt him. And he had Miss Tina now, too. And she was gonna visit.

Credence’s lip twitched at the thought. He turned back to Sara, feeling braver. She smiled kindly at him.

Nice friends.

“I tried to be good, but she wouldn’t stop hurting me. No matter what I did, she just kept hurting me, but then… I made a friend.”

Sara smiled, patting his hand.

“We met around this time last year. He was very nice, very… handsome,” Credence flushed a little. “He took me to lunch, the day after we met, and he told me he liked me, and that he wanted to be my friend. I’d never really had a friend before, besides Modesty. He was very busy, most days, so we couldn’t spend that much time together, but the times we did, I… I fell in love with him, Sara.”

Sara raised her brows. She squeezed his hand again.

“I f-fell in love,” Credence took a shaky breath, the lump rising in his throat again. “And it was wonderful, and then one day I kissed him, and he kissed me back, and it was wonderful. It was so w-wonderful,” Credence’s voice cracked slightly, and he stopped, taking a moment to breathe.

“But then…” Credence looked down. “He didn’t turn out to be very nice. He disappeared one day, and when he came back he was different. He was cruel, suddenly, and… he hurt me. And then he just turned his back on me. He hurt me, and then some other people arrived to where we were and started hurting me too, and then I ran away and hid for a while, and then after a little while Abel found me.”

Credence beamed as he said it, suddenly feeling a warmth in his chest. “Abel found me.”

Sara smiled at him.

“But I didn’t trust him at first, you know,” he added. “Well, I kind of did, cause I let him take me in here, but it didn’t feel right to talk to him. I was going to run away, but then he was nice to me. And he gave me a warm bed, and food, and he was nice to me. So I stayed, but I didn’t want to talk to him just yet. I didn’t want to get too close, just in case he turned out to be like all the others. But he was nice to me, so nice to me, and then, it just slipped out, I guess. I told him my name.”

Sara patted his hand again, but her face was suddenly hard to read.

 _It’s a very nice name,_ she told him. _Very quaint. It suits you._

Credence flushed again, still so unused to compliments. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

Sara smiled.

Credence really liked her smile. It was warm, and kind, and it made him feel safe.

 _Thank you, Credence,_ she wrote. _Thank you for sharing that me. I’m glad that you trust me._

“I do, Sara,” Credence confirmed. “I trust you.”

 _But do you trust me?_ He thought.

She seemed to understand his thoughts, for she then wrote: _I trust you too, enough to share this story with you._

 _Please be patient_ , she continued. _Writing it all out might take a while. Why don’t you read something while you wait?_

“Okay,” Credence nodded. He stood up from the couch, as Sara began to write, and walked over to the bookcase.

He picked out a little novel called Cassandra and Her Cat Gustavus, by an author he didn’t recognize. For a moment, he thought he saw the picture on the front cover move, but when he looked again everything was normal. He decided it must’ve just been a trick of the light.

He sat back down with the, but he was too distracted by whatever Sara was writing to actually read it. The sound of her pencil against the paper seemed deafening, drowning out even the music still drifting from the gramophone.

Finally, Sara finished writing, and passed the notebook to him. He felt so curious now, it was almost too much to bear, but he accepted the notebook gently and carefully.

The little page was half-covered in writing, most of it either crossed out or too messy to actually read, but at the bottom of the page a fresh line read clearly: _It happened about two months before you arrived at the apartment._

Credence turned the page, pleased to find more neat, intelligible writing. He read it silently, one hand holding up the book and the other holding onto Sara’s hand. He figured she might need it as much as him.

_Abel was sick that day. And Beatrice was working late. Usually Abel walks me home, but that night I had to walk home alone._

Credence’s breath caught in his throat, already starting to picture what might’ve happened.

_They’d been waiting for it to happen, it seemed. Men. I didn’t know who they were, but they told me they’d been watching me for a while. They surrounded me, they grabbed me. It was late. There weren’t many people around, but the people I called out to did nothing. They kicked me and beat me. They stuffed a handkerchief into my mouth so I couldn’t scream. I kicked and struggled, but three of them held me tight and the fourth hit me until I stopped fighting._

Credence stopped reading, feeling very uncomfortable. He felt like he shouldn’t be reading this. He felt like he was intruding on something private. He felt like what he was reading was all too familiar…

Credence swallowed, turning to look at Sara. Her face was emotionless, but her hand gripped his so tightly it almost hurt.

“S-Sara?” Credence’s voice was so quiet all of a sudden. “Sara…”

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t really want to read the rest, but Sara had written it out for him. She had listened so patiently to his story. He didn’t want to seem disrespectful for not reading the rest.

He looked back down at the page, his hand shaking only slightly by his side.

_They took me into an alley and they hurt me for over an hour. They hurt me in ways you could never imagine. And I tried to scream, but they hit me. And even if I had been able to call out, I knew no one was coming to help me. I knew I was alone._

_When they were done, they left me behind, to die I guess. I was bleeding in so many places, and my head hurt so much. I thought I was going to die, for the longest time. When everything started to go dark, I thought I was dying, but it turned out only to be the lamplighter putting out the street lights._

_He didn’t see me, I don’t think. I was in the shadows, and I’d taken the handkerchief out by then, but I didn’t call out. I’d called out before, and people had seen I was in trouble, but they hadn’t helped me. Why would he be any different?_

_So I stayed there, for what felt like an eternity, but then I thought about Abel, how worried he must be. So I managed to pick myself up, and I dragged myself home. Abel was still awake, worried sick, and he almost fainted dead away when I walked into the apartment. Not surprised, I must’ve looked a sight. Bloody and bruised, my clothes in pieces. I probably looked like I’d just been to war._

_Beatrice was stronger. She took one look me and almost fainted herself, but she took me into the bathroom and cleaned me up. I was so tired, but she made me take a bath, and then she bandaged my wounds. She burned my torn clothes. She brushed my hair and wiped off what was left of my makeup. She was crying the whole time._

Credence felt like crying himself.

_Abel slept in my bed that night, and I slept with Beatrice. I scratched at my skin in my sleep. I could still feel them touching me. I felt so raw. There was a deep gash on my leg and when I felt it it was like they were still there in the room with me. They hurt me so much. I barely got an hour of sleep. I woke up five times trying to scream but I couldn’t even whisper._

Credence stopped reading again. He didn’t feel like he needed to read anymore, and he really didn’t want to anyhow.

“They took your voice away,” he whispered.

Sara nodded.

“It’s not that you don’t speak,” he continued. “It’s that you can’t.”

Sara shook her head. She tapped the page.

Credence looked down, reluctantly but obediently. He turned his gaze to Sara’s little brown finger, and where it was pointing.

_It hurt too much to speak, at first. After a few days of ragged, painful whispers, I just stopped. I could tell it was hurting my friends as much as it was hurting me. I decided to wait until I felt good enough to speak again. I didn’t want to hurt myself any more than they already had._

_But then I started to think, would they even notice if I spoke again? If they had been there that night, if they hadn’t known it was me, would they have helped? What if I’d been a complete stranger? Would they have helped then? Beatrice and Abel are good people, but those people who’d seen me had probably been good people too, and they hadn’t helped._

_What was the point of talking if no one was going to listen?_

_What was the point of calling out if no one was going to help me?_

_What was the point of trying to scream if people were people were just going to shut me out?_

“Sara…” Credence whispered. He put the notebook down on the table, unable to bear having to read anymore, and took his friend into his arms.

Sara was always ready for a hug. At least those horrible men hadn’t taken that away from her too.

They held each other tightly, for the longest time. Credence was crying fully now, thinking of that one line from her story.

_“They hurt me in ways you could never imagine.”_

But he could imagine it.

He knew exactly what she was talking about, exactly what those people had done to her. He knew because… because…

“Sara, I know how it feels.”

Sara looked up, raising her brows in confusion. Without having to write it down, he could already tell she was asking him, “what do you mean?”

“Well, um,” Credence looked down, feeling a little awkward. He didn’t want to seem like he was trying to compare his pain to hers, to downplay the way she’d been hurt. He wanted to let her know she wasn’t alone.

“You’re not alone,” he said. “You’re not alone in what you went through. What those men did to you…

“The man I told you about,” Credence whispered. “He did the same to me.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, another trigger warning in case you missed the last one, this chapter also mentions rape rather explicitly. For those of you sensitive to the topic, please proceed with caution. My best to you. :)

Credence wasn’t trying to compare what he was feeling to what Sara was feeling. His ma had done that so much – she’d always told him he didn’t deserve to be unhappy because other people had it worse. Credence didn’t know why she always used that analogy – she didn’t seem to give much of a darn about the “poor kids in Africa”, or the “kids in chairs”. The only time she ever brought up such issues was when she was trying to make Credence feel guilty about his own issues, which confused Credence even more. He couldn’t help the way he felt, happy or sad. That wasn’t something he had any control over, and just because he wasn’t in a chair didn’t mean he had no right to feel unhappy. As far as he was concerned, he had every damn right to feel unhappy with the fact that the woman who was supposed to love him unconditionally grabbed at every chance in the book to hurt him, both verbally and physically.

No, he didn’t want to do that at all. He only wanted Sara to understand how he could relate to her, how he thought he could help her by sharing with her his own similar past. Having someone to relate to you was always a comfort, Credence thought, particularly when you were feeling unhappy.

Sara, by the way, was staring at him now, her eyes wide as saucers.

She pulled out of his arms slightly, reaching over to the table to retrieve her notebook and pen.

 _That man, you said he hurt you,_ she wrote.  _How did he hurt you?_

Credence looked down, feeling awkward. He’d said Mister Graves had done the same thing to him as those men had done to Sara, but when he thought about it that was only a little bit true. What Mister Graves had done to him was nowhere nearly as graphic as what those men had done to Sara, but he still felt like they’d experienced the same violent act. Perhaps he was wrong – he’d read about rape and sexual assault, mainly in bible passages, but it had most always occurred by men to women. Credence hadn’t known then if men or boys could be hurt that way, but he felt like he had.

Sara took his hand again.

 _If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay,_ she wrote. _You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to._

Credence bit his lip. “Wouldn’t that be rude?”

Sara shook her head. _Of course not!_ She replied. _Either for your benefit or for theirs, you have every right to keep things from people._

“Okay,” Credence nodded at her, his lips twitching slightly. Sara had been teaching him so much in the past two months, He wondered how much of what his ma had ingrained into him over the years had actually been true.

Credence sighed, patting her hand.

The first time Percival had made love to him, they’d had to stop within the first few minutes. Credence had been crying too hard, so afraid that his feelings for Percival were wicked and impure, and that their relationship would condemn them both to hell. He couldn’t control the way he felt about his friend, couldn’t control the fact that he was in love. Why would God curse him for such a thing? Was He really so cruel?

Percival had ceased his ministrations immediately, lifting his hands from Credence’s bare thighs to bring him into a hug. He’d kissed Credence gently, one warm hand on his cheek and the other rubbing little circles on his back. Credence had gripped his lapels so tightly the fabric had wrinkled in his grasp. For a moment, he’d been afraid Percival would hit him for it, but the older man had barely taken notice. He’d kissed and soothed Credence until Credence no longer remembered why he’d been crying, and then he’d laid Credence back down on the bed and loved him, gently and carefully. He’d whispered sweet words into his ear, kissed his way over Credence’s pale skin, and Credence had felt safe. He’d felt loved. He hadn’t felt sinful, or impure, at all.

Afterwards, they’d begun to make love more and more often, almost every time they could meet. What had started out as something gentle and awkward and sweet had quickly turned into something fire-fueled and passionate, something Credence found himself craving. And it didn’t feel wicked, and it didn’t make Credence feel wicked. This love, it made Credence feel… whole. Whatever had been missing in Credence’s sorrowful life, he felt like his relationship with Percival was it.

But then, that last time before Mister Graves had turned his back on him, it hadn’t felt like love. Something had felt wrong. Mister Graves had seemed off the past week, very off, but Credence felt it even more so when the older man had taken him to bed.

Usually, it was a pleasant experience. What generally started out as an awkward fumbling of limbs and buttons quickly had Credence gasping and writhing on the bed, fingers grasping the sheets beneath his body as he arched up into Percival’s touch. Usually, Percival would thread their fingers together, pressing him back down into the bed, his breath hot against Credence’s neck as he thrust in and out of Credence’s sex. He would slot their mouths together, swallowing down Credence’s every little groan and gasp as they kissed each other senseless. He would tell Credence over and over how much he cared about him, calling him things like “baby”, “dear”, “darling”, “my sweet”, and Credence would clutch at his lover and try not to cry and whisper how much he loved him in return.

Percival had made him feel loved.

But that day, it had felt odd. It had felt wrong.

Something was wrong with his Percival. He’d known that the moment Percival returned, but that day it had felt all the more prominent – that Percival was not himself.

Credence had decided a few minutes after they began that he didn’t really want to do it after all. He didn’t want to make love when it didn’t feel like love. He’d tried to tell Percival this, but Percival had only shushed him and demanded Credence call him Mister Graves.

When Mister Graves put his hands on Credence’s belt, Credence had felt a spark of fear.

He’d tried to push Mister Graves’ hands away, again trying to explain that he didn’t really feel like it after all, but Mister Graves had only growled and then suddenly Credence couldn’t move at his own will. Mister Graves had kept touching him, kept touching him there, and then Credence had started crying, because why was his Percival acting so unfriendly and strange? But Mister Graves had only shushed him again.

It hadn’t felt nice that day. It hadn’t felt like it usually did, and even when Credence came against the sheets beneath them, sheets already partially wet with his tears, it still felt so wrong.

Credence hadn’t felt safe. He hadn’t felt loved.

He’d felt violated. He’d felt used. He’d felt like his ma had just beaten him.

He’d felt afraid of Mister Graves.

Mister Graves had felt different too. Usually he was so warm, his touch sending sparks down Credence’s spine. But that day, as he finally slid out of Credence to sit beside him on the bed, he touched Credence’s cheek, and his fingers had been cold as ice.

And Credence had felt afraid.

When Mister Graves had left the room, presumably to get a drink, Credence had dressed as quickly as he could, before sneaking out the bedroom window. It had been raining as he ran back to the church, but the only chills he felt were from Mister Graves’ touch still lingering on his cheek.

Ma had beaten him that night, for arriving home in such a shameful state, and Credence realized then that whatever Mister Graves had done to him felt worse than her beatings.

It was one thing to have someone you hate hurt you.

It was another to have someone you love hurt you too.

Credence told all this to Sara, whom of which sat and listened as patiently as she had before. When Credence finished, she took his hand and squeezed it.

He squeezed back.

 _He raped you, Credence,_ Sara wrote. _He raped you just as much as those horrible men raped me._

Credence bit his lip again, feeling a little awkward. “Did he though?” He asked. “I mean, we were already together…”

Sara looked incredulously at him, but then her expression turned sorrowful. _Rape is rape,_ she told him. _It doesn’t matter who does it to you. It doesn’t matter if it’s your partner, or a stranger, or an older sibling or anybody. And it doesn’t matter how they do it. Those men hit me until I was too weak to keep fighting. That man held you down until he finished. They didn’t care about what we felt. They used us for their own benefit. They raped us._

Credence had by now started shaking. Mister Graves, his Percival, had raped him. How could such a respectful man do something so unsavoury, something so vile, something so… wicked? How could he have done it to Credence?

Sara squeezed Credence’s hand again. She ran a hand through his curly hair, trying to soothe his tremors.

Credence took a shaky breath, trying to calm down himself. He hoped Sara didn’t think he was making a fuss.

“We’re not so different, you and I,” he said then. “We’ve both known that kind of pain, we’ve both had our voices taken away.”

He thought back to what Sara had told him, about not feeling like Abel and Beatrice would’ve helped her if they had been there that night. What those men had done to her, Credence realized it was more like what his Ma had done to him. They’d broken her, destroyed her, until she’d felt like she couldn’t even trust her own friends. His Ma had done a similar thing, turning the children of the orphanage against each other, until they started to become thankful that she was hurting someone, as long as it wasn’t them.

Maybe that’s what those people had been feeling, the people Sara had called out to for help. They hadn’t wanted to help her, not because they didn’t care, but because they hadn’t wanted to get hurt themselves.

But he wasn’t going to say that to her. He didn’t want to make her upset, didn’t want her to think he was trying to justify their behaviour. Besides, there was something very different he had in mind that he thought she did need to hear.

“Sara,” Credence shifted closer to her. “Sara, I hope you don’t think it inappropriate for me to say this, but Abel and Beatrice really love you. Just because those people didn’t want to help you doesn’t mean Abel and Beatrice are the same. Sara, Abel didn’t think twice about saving me that night, didn’t think twice into bringing me into his home. And I was… I was a stranger. You’re his best friend. You’re his sister. He loves you. If he’d been there he would’ve done everything he could to help you. And Beatrice loves you too, you know. She’s so protective towards you, haven’t you noticed? If she’d been there she would’ve… dear lord, those bastards wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

Credence clapped a hand over his mouth, almost unable to believe he’d cursed so blatantly like that.

Sara laughed though, raising a hand to wipe her eyes. Credence hadn’t even realized she’d started crying.

He lifted a hand to her cheek, using his thumb to brush away her tears. She was older than him, he knew, several years older, but at that moment she looked almost like a child.

He kissed her gently, in the way that she often kissed him before she left for work in the morning. He liked her kisses, her hugs. They made him feel safe, and loved, and wanted. He hoped his little kiss made her feel the same way.

From the way she held onto him, relaxing into his arms, he supposed that it had.

*

Beatrice and Abel returned a short while later, arms laden down not with bags of groceries but actual platters of food?

Sara and Credence glanced at each other, both thinking the same thing. Sara stared at Beatrice, waiting for her to explain, and Credence looked at Abel the same way.

Credence stood up, meaning to take one of the plates from Beatrice’s arms. She was already holding four by herself, and it seemed she had even more food in the paper bag she was also somehow carrying. Dear lord, how had she gotten up the stairs?

“Tank you, Credence,” she offered him a rare smile as she handed him a bowl of yellow noodles. “Dear zon ov God, it voz a nightmare trying to git up those stairs.”

Credence laughed.

“Miss Beatrice, where did all this food come from?” He asked. “Weren’t you going shopping?”

“Vell, ve vurr,” Beatrice began.

Credence and Abel shared a grin. They both loved their friend’s accent.

“But then ve vurr bombarded by a few ov my friends, from verk. They’d been looking for me all day, apparently, because they had a few gifts for me!” Beatrice smiled wider, indicating the food. “Alma gave me the rote grutze, bless her heart, and dear Queenie gave me this eintopf!”

“The what?” Credence had no idea what she was saying. He looked at Abel, wondering if he knew what their friend was talking about, but the older man seemed just as lost as he did.

“I also got this rouladen, from Mr Abernathy,” Beatrice held the plate out for Credence to take too. “It was nice of him to give to me, I didn’t think he liked me all that much.”

“Yeah, that was nice,” Credence nodded.

“Come on,” Abel stepped forward, leading Credence into the kitchen to put their plates down. Beatrice followed them, and Sara quickly got off the couch to follow her.

The three of them set the plates down on the table, which quickly began to creak underneath all the sudden weight. Sara took Beatrice’s hand, as the older woman began to tell them the names of each dish in turn.

The “rote grutze” was the red berry pudding, served with cream and even more berries. The “eintopf” was a sort of one pot stew, put together by none other than Miss Tina’s sister, Queenie Goldstein! Credence hadn’t even known she’d had a sister!

Miss Queenie had also apparently made the pumpkin soup, that of which Abel had been holding in a tureen. It looked very nice, swirled through with cream and little black seeds sprinkled on top, and the eintopf stew looked just as good.

As well as this, there was the rouladen, a sort of thinly-sliced beef roll, with a filling of chopped vegetables, herbs and mustard. It looked very nice as well, especially on a bed of salad, potatoes and carrots. It seemed Mr Abernathy, whomever he was, had put a lot of work into it for Beatrice.

The yellow noodles Beatrice had given Credence were called “Kasespatzle”, and were just that – noodles, served with cheese, roasted onion, and chopped herbs. And the last platter was a simple salad of chopped greens, radishes and red onions, creamy white dressing, and more herbs. Beatrice’s friends really seemed to like herbs. 

Credence couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen so much food at the time, even after having lived in the apartment almost two months. It all looked so pretty, and when they immediately sat down to eat, everything tasted as though it had just been made.

Credence didn’t want to eat too much in one go, but he couldn’t help himself. It all looked so delicious, and it all smelled so wonderful, that he just piled his plate with a little bit of everything and dug right in.

Credence tried the rouladen first, and as the filling practically melted on his tongue he thought he would never again taste anything so wonderful.

But then he tried Miss Queenie’s dishes, the eintopf and the pumpkin soup, and the rouladen was practically forgotten.

Miss Queenie’s food, it was the best food he’d ever tasted, for sure. The soup was creamy and rich, with just the right amount of pepper and spice, and just a hint of butter that left no oily taste on his tongue. Usually when Credence had soup, he usually liked a bit of bread on the side to accompany it, but the soup was already so fantastic that it needed no further fulfillment.

And the eintopf, somehow it was even better. It was a hearty meal, the kind one would eat after a cold or difficult day. Every bite warmed his insides, almost feeling like a hug, in a way. It almost seemed like magic.

Credence stopped then, spoon halfway to his lips.

What if it was magic?

Miss Queenie was Miss Tina’s sister, and he knew Miss Tina was a witch, so what if Miss Queenie was a witch too?

Credence glanced at Beatrice, food now forgotten.

Beatrice had brought Miss Tina to the apartment. She was friends with her, and she was friends with that strange lady who had said all those strange things to Credence. What if that woman was a witch? What if Beatrice was a witch too?

What if that’s why she’d acted so standoffish to Credence at the start, why she’d always been eyeing him suspiciously but never really talking to him? What if she’d been observing him, his behaviour? What if she’d let him stay only because she needed to keep an eye on him? What if that’s why she’d brought Miss Tina here? Because she knew that they’d known each other?

Credence could barely eat now, not with all these sudden thoughts rushing through his head, but he managed to shovel the rest of his food down, thinking perhaps the quicker he moved the quicker tomorrow would come. He wanted Miss Tina to visit. He wanted to talk to her, and he wanted a friend to be there if he decided to talk to Beatrice too.

The rest of the meal was delicious, of course, and they all became full very quickly. Sara and Credence packed up the leftovers to put in the fridge, while Abel and Beatrice washed up.

Around half an hour later, while they were all relaxing and listening to the radio in the loungeroom, Abel stood up again to go prepare some tea, and to serve the challah bread that Credence had almost forgotten about.

The two bouquets were still on the little table, where Credence had left them. Credence quickly picked them up, mumbling an apology, as Abel set his tray down.

“Oh, don’t be sorry, sweet boy,” Abel smiled at him. “Nothing’s wrong. But, how come you left them here though? I thought you would’ve put them in water by now.”

Credence blushed, looking down. “Well, I didn’t know if that’s what you wanted, so I just decided to leave them here. I’m sorry, Abel.”

“Pfft, it’s fine,” Abel waved him off. “No worries.”

“Okay,” Credence smiled at him, holding out the roses to him. “Here, then.”

“Oh, no Credence,” Abel laughed a little, pushing the roses away. “No, they’re for you.”

Credence stopped, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “For… for me?”

He looked down at the flowers. They were the exact kind he’d been admiring in the shop, but he’d never thought that Abel had bought them for him.

Abel’s smiled widened. “Yes, of course. I noticed that you liked them. That’s why I bought them.”

He reached out then, to tuck a few stray hairs behind Credence’s ear. “Pretty flowers, for a pretty boy.”

Credence flushed at the compliment, hiding his smile behind the roses, breathing in the now rather faint but still quite nice scent. “Thank you,” he said softly, lifting his head to smile at Abel fully. “Thank you.”

Abel kept his hand on Credence’s cheek, gazing fondly at him. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something more, but then he dropped his hand, and turned away from Credence to go fetch some pots of water.

Credence sat back down, suddenly feeling devastated for some reason. He looked down, his grip tightening around the bouquet in his arms.

Abel returned a moment later, and Credence did indeed put the flowers on the bedside table in the bedroom, prettily arranged in a vase the same colour as the robin’s eggs they’d found that afternoon in Central Park.

A little while after that, Beatrice decided to call it a night. Sara followed soon after, kissing Abel and Credence goodnight before disappearing into her room.

Credence helped Abel with the rest of the washing up, and then before he knew it they were back in Abel’s room, and Abel was flopping down on the mattress like a dropped doll.

“Dear lord and savior,” he murmured, his voice half-muffled by the sheets. “Today has been a very, very, very long day.”

Credence giggled, sitting down beside his friend.

“I mean it Credence,” Abel rolled on his side, grinning at him. “Usually my days off pass by like-“

Abel snapped his fingers.

“But today has been longer than… than Rapunzel’s hair!” He continued. “Honestly, I… I feel like if my life were a story, today would’ve spanned… six chapters, at least.”

Credence giggled again, reaching over to poke Abel’s stomach. “You’re silly.”

Abel laughed, smiling at him. Credence smiled back.

He flopped down himself, lying on his side next to his friend.

He took Abel’s hand, thinking about the events of the day.

He thought about Beatrice coming home, and bringing Miss Tina with her. He thought about taking a walk with Abel, and meeting the nice Mr Kowalski. He thought about exploring Central Park, climbing up that tree and finding the little robin’s nest. He thought about Abel buying him flowers. He thought about realizing after all this time that Mister Graves had raped him, but then he thought about how he’d bonded with Sara. He thought about their nice dinner, about how they’d sat together afterwards and just read and listened to music, enjoying each other's company without having to try. They were like a family, Credence thought, a little family.

And perhaps, one day, he might even be able to call himself a part of it.

He smiled at the thought, and squeezed Abel’s hand. “Today was a good day,” he murmured.

Abel smiled back, his eyes shining as he looked at Credence. He shifted a little closer, reaching up to touch Credence’s cheek. His hand was warm, and Credence closed his eyes, reveling in the feeling.

“Credence,” Abel’s voice was so soft all of a sudden, but it didn’t really matter considering how close they were.

“Hmm?” Credence hummed, not opening his eyes. Abel’s fingers had started to run gently through his hair, and it felt so nice that Credence didn’t really want to think about anything else.

“Credence…” Abel’s voice was even quieter, and then Credence felt him shift even closer. “Credence…”

He felt Abel’s breath on his own lips. He wondered exactly how close they were.

He opened his eyes.

They were very close, close enough that that the tip Abel’s nose just brushed against his, close enough for their warm breaths to intermingle in the minimal space between them, close enough that Abel could kiss him, if he wanted.

“What is it?” Credence asked his friend, his own voice barely above a whisper. His lips brushed just ever so gently against Abel’s as he spoke, the sensation sending chills running down his spine.

Why did it feel different now, to be so close? They’d cuddled before, kissed before. Abel kissed him every day, just as Sara did, in the morning before they left for work, and in the evening when they returned home. The intimacy was just the same now as it had been countless times before.

So why did it feel so different?

“Credence,” Abel whispered again. “You know… you really need to do something about this beard.”

Credence laughed out loud, completely taken aback by the unexpected comment. Abel laughed too, leaning forward to press his forehead against Credence’s, his fingers running absentmindedly through said beard.

Credence reached up to touch it, thinking perhaps that Abel had a point. He was desperately in need of a shave. He’d never been much for beards, not really finding them very pleasant, but these past few months he hadn’t even given a thought to shaving.

Besides, well, he didn’t really know how.

Back at the orphanage, Ma had always insisted upon shaving the bristles herself when they grew, as apparently shaving them himself would be something like vanity, and of course vanity was a sin.

She’d always cut his hair too, and even if she’d been a very nice woman who treated her children with love and respect, Credence still thought he would’ve preferred his present haircut. His hair before had always been too short, probably to rid away the lice, and somehow it had always felt oily. His hair now was soft in a way he hadn’t known it could be, and it curled around his fingers so nice.

Abel was touching his hair now, still smiling, murmuring things like “so soft, so pretty, such a pretty boy.”

Credence blushed.

“Well, besides the beard of course.”

Credence laughed.

“I don’t like it either, believe me,” he told his friend. “I, uh, I just don’t actually know to shave.”

Abel’s eyes popped. “What? Really?”

Credence giggled, tucking his head into Abel’s shoulder. “I never learned how.”

“Sweet boy!” Abel laughed himself, before clapping Credence on the back. “First thing come morning, I’ll teach you. How about that?”

Credence giggled again. “That sounds alright.”

The two chatted quietly for quite a while longer. It was only when Credence began to yawn that Abel thought to look at the clock, but he practically jumped out of his skin when he did.

“…tomatoes don’t go in cakes, we were – HOLY MOLY!” He yelled, very much startling Credence. “Oh good gravy, is that the time?”

Abel jumped up from the bed, taking the three strides over to the chair to fetch his pyjamas. “Lord and saviour, I’m so sorry Credence,” he said hastily. “I didn’t realize it was so late, I have work in the morning, you know?”

Credence nodded. “That’s okay.”

He looked over at the little clock himself; it was already past eleven? Where had the time gone?

“Hold on, sweet,” Abel spoke again. “I’ll just go put on my – oh.”

Credence looked back up at his friend, immediately frowning in confusion.

Abel looked so… sad, all of a sudden.

Credence stood up, reaching out to take his friend’s hand.

“Abel?” Credence gave his hand a squeeze. “Abel, is everything alright?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, I’m fine,” Abel smiled at him, squeezing his hand in return. “I, uh, I just forgot about the whole… bed situation.”

“Bed situ… oh.” Credence got it. Abel had been sleeping in Bea’s room with Sara for so long, he’d forgotten that he didn’t have his own bed to return to once Beatrice came home, which she had now. And she was sleeping.

Credence looked down. Abel did have his own bed, but Credence was sleeping in it.

Credence had tried to get Abel to take his bed back, several times, but his friend had always refused, insisting that Credence needed it more. In all honesty, Credence thought that it was Abel who needed it more, seeing as it was Abel that worked hard all day long while Credence lazed about with books and hot chocolate at home. It was so selfish of Credence to accept such luxury when his friend came home bone-tired and irritable, only to have to squeeze himself into a couch not even Sara could lie down comfortably on.

But even if their circumstances were the same, even if Credence worked just as long and just as hard as Abel, he still thought he wouldn’t mind taking the couch. Cramped as it was, it was still far more comfortable than his cramped little church bed, and he’d slept on that most of his life.

But telling Abel that would only make him more reluctant to let Credence sleep on the couch instead. Abel was like that, too nice for his own good, even if it meant his own discomfort for other’s sake.

Credence furrowed his brows, thinking hard. He knew Abel would never take the bed if it meant Credence would sleep on the cramped little couch. Abel wouldn’t want that for him, that’s why he’d given Credence the bed. But it was his bed! It wasn’t Credence’s bed! Why, oh why did he have to be so nice? Couldn’t he just stay in his own bed? Credence was fine sleeping on the couch! No, but Abel would never let that–

Hold on.

“Abel.”

What if they both stayed?

“Abel, wait.”

Abel had been about to leave the room, but he stopped in the doorway, turning back to look at Credence.

“Hmm? Is everything okay?” Abel stepped back towards Credence.

“Abel, um…” Credence suddenly felt heat rising in his cheeks, though he couldn’t really understand why. Maybe it was the proposition; it was the kind of thing his Ma would have smacked him for if she’d found out. A man, sleeping with a man? It was unheard of! It was devilish! It was… the exact same thing he’d done with another man, once upon a time.

No, no it wasn’t. Credence didn’t want to sleep with Abel in that sense. While sharing a bed was definitely very intimate, Credence hadn’t even been thinking about it in that way. He only wanted Abel to be comfortable, in a way that they could both be comfortable, so neither one of them had to feel bad for the other.

Credence cleared his throat. “Abel, uh, you don’t have to go,” he smiled a little at his friend. “You could stay, if you’d like.”

Abel stared at him, still looking a little confused, but when Credence gestured slightly to the bed his eyes widened in understanding.

“Oh.”

Credence smiled at him, stepping forward to take Abel’s hand.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch, I don’t want you to sleep on the couch,” he continued. “I know it’s uncomfortable, so I thought… maybe we could share the bed? It’s big enough, I’m pretty sure. Oh, but if you don’t wanna then-“

“No, Credence, I…” Abel’s eyes were snapping everywhere except Credence’s face, and Credence found himself worrying for a moment that his friend was having a seizure, but then Abel finally looked at him and he seemed calm, so Credence relaxed.

He gave Abel’s hand a squeeze though, both to try to calm him down and because he just wanted to.

Abel sighed, looking fondly down at his friend. This boy was going to be the death of him.

He didn’t even know what he was doing to Abel, but before they knew it Abel was going to be six feet under, and for all he knew Credence still wouldn’t have a clue about… about how much Abel loved him…

And now he was offering to have them share the bed, something he seemed a bit… a bit too comfortable with?

Abel didn’t know about Credence’s past. Credence hadn’t told him very much about himself yet, hadn’t even started speaking since last night, but from what Abel could tell, he didn’t think Credence had come from a place where sharing a bed with another man was encouraged or even accepted.

But he’d been living with Abel and his friends for two months now. He’d seen how casually they all shared each other’s beds, both when they needed it and when they just wanted a close friend. Credence himself had never tried to slip in beside him or Sara while they were asleep, but, looking at Credence now, Abel could tell how much Credence did want him to stay.

Abel thought about it. He thought about slipping beside Credence under the covers, holding the sweet boy close against his chest, the smell of his shampoo tickling Abel’s nose. He thought about kissing Credence goodnight, and Credence kissing him goodnight in return. He thought about falling asleep to the rise and fall of Credence’s chest against his, knobby fingers threaded through his own. He thought about waking up in the morning with that pretty face and those pretty eyes and those pretty lips mere inches away from his, knees and feet pressing together beneath the covers, and decided that the offer was too irresistible to refuse.

“Dear lord and saviour, you’re going to be the death of me,” Abel mumbled.

“Hmm?” Credence didn’t seem to have heard, thank the lord.

“Oh, nothing,” Abel waved him off. “Come on, sweet boy. Let’s get ready for bed.”

Credence smiled back, turning to fetch his pyjamas from under the pillow.

Abel tried not to choke too much when Credence began to undress, right in front of him, and he definitely meant not to stare too much either, but it was practically impossible not to, not when he reached down with his slim hands to unbuckle his belt, nor when he slid his trousers down smooth, creamy thighs that made Abel just want to…

Abel swallowed, looking down at his crotch. “Don’t even think about it,” he mumbled to his cock.

He looked back at his boy, trying to distract the heat pooling down his body with more… familial thoughts. He looked at his friend’s torso, pleased to see that the shirt Abel had bought him, which had almost hung off Credence like a sheet when he’d first put it on, was now quite fitting. While Credence was still far too slim, even bony, in some places, he was definitely far healthier than he’d been the night Abel had found him.

Speaking of the shirt, Credence was now starting to unbutton it, not even seeming to notice that Abel was staring at him.

In a slight panic, Abel turned away to fumble with his own clothes. How stupid he was being! Credence trusted him enough to undress in front of him, and here he was gawking away like a common pervert!

Abel undressed, and then redressed, quickly, almost furiously pulling up his pyjama bottoms. He looked down at his crotch again, whispering a stern, “behave,” before turning back to his friend.

Abel didn’t know which image he liked better – Credence wearing the nightgown Abel had given him that first night, or Credence wearing the pyjamas Abel had bought for him.

Both, he decided then. Both is good.

Credence seemed to favour the nightgown himself, and it looked very nice on him. It was of a rather old-fashioned style, but the pale pink colour suited him well, softening the stark contrast of his pale skin to his dark hair and eyes. The skirt rippled around his legs, the hem skimming over the tops of his feet as he sat back down on the edge of the bed. The sleeves were a bit too long, almost slipping over Credence’s hands, but it just made him look all the more endearing.

He was so pretty.

Dear lord above, Abel wanted to kiss him so bad.

He folded his clothes quickly, setting them on the chair. Credence had set his own clothes neatly at the end of the bed, so Abel took them up to put them on the chair too.

He walked back the few steps to sit beside his friend.

“How are you feeling?” He asked. “Would you like to go to sleep?”

Credence was yawning as he said it, but he nodded, answering Abel’s question.

“Okay.”

The two slipped into the bed, Credence scooting back almost to the wall to make room for his friend. Abel felt he could faint from their sudden close proximity, but he shushed his thoughts. He’d cuddled with Credence many times on the couch. This was no different. He had to stop being ridiculous.

Credence immediately snuggled against Abel’s chest, curling an arm around his waist and tucking his head into the crook of Abel’s shoulder. His breath was warm against Abel’s skin, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and sending sparks shooting down his spine.

Abel felt like crying all of a sudden. He was so in love with this boy, so, so, so in love, and he didn’t even know. He didn’t even know what he was doing to Abel, didn’t know how Abel felt about him.

Abel really wanted to tell him.

He felt like he was going mad. He felt like his love was a leaky faucet, one that he was desperately trying to close, but of course to no avail. Love was stubborn. It wasn’t something that could be ignored, and it wasn’t something that could just be turned off like a tap. One day, he knew it was all just going to gush out of him like a waterfall, the way it always did whenever he gained feelings for someone. And Credence was going to think he was disgusting, just as all those other people had before him.

It had always happened that way. Why would it be different now?

Abel sighed.

He shifted closer to Credence, their legs pressing together under the sheets, and draped his own arm around the boy’s slim frame.

Credence sighed happily, relaxing against him, his lips brushing against Abel’s neck with the movement. Abel tried to relax himself, resting his chin on Credence’s crown, breathing in the soft scent of his shampoo.

 _I love you_ , he thought.

“Good night, Credence,” he said aloud.

Credence lifted his head, smiling at his friend. “Good night, Abel,” he murmured back.

He touched Abel’s cheek; leaned forward to kiss Abel gently on the mouth.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispered.

Abel ‘s mouth hung half open, though he didn’t reply. Credence giggled and kissed him again, on the corner of his mouth this time, before shifting back to rest his head on the pillow.

Abel’s dark eyes bore into Credence’s own. Still silent, he reached his hand up to touch Credence’s own cheek, pressed their foreheads together.

All Credence could see now were those eyes, gazing back into his.

He remembered the first night he’d seen those eyes, eyes that had looked at him so curiously out on the street, eyes that been so full of fear and wonder and confusion when Abel approached him in the alley.

Credence had been afraid too, but then those eyes had turned kind, and when he looked at Credence, Credence had known he could trust him.

Credence squeezed Abel’s hand under the covers, still staring into those beautiful eyes.

They’d been fearful again, when Credence had somehow turned back into a boy. Credence had heard his thoughts that night, heard the pounding of his heart as heavy as his own, had known Abel thought he was going to die.

But then they’d become surprised, when he saw what Credence really was, and then quickly they’d become kind once more, and then warm, and then cheerful, and always beautiful. Abel was beautiful, and Abel thought he was beautiful, and there was something in his eyes now when he looked at Credence, but it was something that Credence couldn’t quite read.

He looked into his eyes, eyes as dark and bottomless as the ocean, eyes that seemed to mirror Credence’s own face if he looked close enough.

He felt like he could drown in those eyes. He felt like their darkness could swallow him whole if he wasn’t careful.

But he didn’t think he would mind if they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please like and comment :)
> 
> I'm thnks-fr-th-feels on Tumblr!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've posted some pictures of how I imagine Beatrice to look on my Tumblr (thnks-fr-th-feels). Feel free to check 'em out! :D

_“Have you ever been in love, Mister Graves?”_

_Credence hadn’t really meant to say it; it had just popped out. They’d been walking together one morning, Credence accompanying Percival to the Woolworth building before finishing his paper rounds, and had happened to pass a young couple in the midst of none other than proposal._

_Credence had looked up at his friend, eyes tracing the line of his jaw down to the firm set of his mouth, a mouth that twitched just slightly at the corner when he glanced at the couple._

_That had set Credence thinking: had Percival ever had a partner if his own? He was practically married to his work, always saying how he had too much work to do, that he was too busy to dabble in such silly affairs as romance, but he was middle-aged now. In all his life, surely he’d had a partner, at least once, right?_

_So he’d asked._

_Percival’s jaw had tightened, indicating he’d heard, but he kept walking just as he’d been doing, and his gaze didn’t flicker down to meet Credence’s until a few moments later._

_Credence had been looking at him all this time, waiting patiently for an answer. After another moment, Percival gave a quiet “hmm”, before clearing his throat._

_“Of course,” he said quietly, raising his brow at Credence. “Hasn’t everyone?”_

_Credence had never been in love. Credence was in love right now._

_But of course, he wasn’t going to tell Percival that._

_Credence shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess,” he mumbled awkwardly._

_“Who was she?” He asked, directing the subject back to his friend. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”_

_“I don’t,” Percival looked fully at Credence, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a smile. “But, if you don’t mind, my boy, I’d rather not talk about her out here.”_

_Credence looked around. He couldn’t really see anything wrong with the street; usual amount of traffic, usual amount of passers-by, usual sky, usual clouds. Maybe it was the passers-by that his friend was worried about, actually. Perhaps he didn’t want to talk about “her” around so many people he didn’t know._

_Which meant, Credence thought with a smile, that Percival trusted him enough to talk about her with him. Percival trusted Credence._

_“Tell you what,” Percival was speaking again, and then his hand was on Credence bony shoulder. “Why don’t you meet me outside the Woolworth building again tonight, after I’ve finished work? We can talk at my apartment. I think it’s time I told you about her, anyway.”_

_“Your apartment?” Credence’s eyes widened. “But… but what about... if Mary Lou finds out than she’ll–“_

_“Shh,” Percival’s finger was suddenly on his lips, silencing him immediately. “My boy, do you really think I would let that woman do anything to hurt you?”_

_Credence shook his head, admitted still a little taken aback by the shush, but he managed to answer, “Of course not, Percival.”_

_“Oh, my boy,” Percival laughed a little. “Please, call me Percy.”_

_*_

_The rest of the day seemed to pass by in a blur, and before Credence knew it he had snuck out of the bedroom window, making his way down the street to his friend._

_The night was warm, but Credence still shivered as he approached the Woolworth building. Mister Graves was there already, seated on a bench a little ways down the path, two Dixie cups in his hands._

_Credence stepped over to him eagerly; Percival stood, smiling kindly back at him._

_“Good evening, Credence,” Percival greeted him gently, handing Credence one of the cups. Credence lifted it to his mouth, excitedly taking a whiff: hot chocolate!_

_“Th-thank you, Percival!” Credence beamed at his friend._

_“Oh Credence, you’re shivering.” Percival immediately slipped off his scarf, and before Credence could object Percival was wrapping it around his own neck._

_“Oh!” The scarf was so warm, warmer than Credence would’ve even expected. He instantly dug his face into it, sighing as the warmth hit his cold cheeks and nose. “Thank you, Percival… Percy.”_

_The scarf smelled like his friend usually did, a mixed scent of expensive cologne, coffee brew and black licorice (one of Percival’s guilty pleasures). Credence wound it a little tighter around his neck, reveling in its warmth._

_He smiled at his friend, and his friend smiled back, stepping closer to wrap an arm around his shoulder._

_“Come on, my boy,” Percival squeezed his shoulder gently. “Let’s go home.”_

_*_

_The first time Credence had seen Percival’s apartment, he’d expected it to be much like Percival himself; smooth, polished, and put together. He’d ended up being half-right; Percival’s apartment was very put together, just not in the way Credence would’ve thought._

_In short, when Credence first stepped inside, he’d wondered if perhaps his friend’s home had been ransacked. The mess was extraordinary, papers and folders and files littering almost every surface, half-eaten food on plates left stacked on the table, rubbish all over the floor – Credence almost fainted._

_But when Percival acted embarrassed, mumbling apologies about how he’d forgotten about the mess, Credence immediately changed his attitude, insisting that it was a lovely apartment and how thankful he was that Percival trusted him enough to bring him there. Percival had laughed and squeezed Credence’s shoulder, and set about cleaning up a little while Credence sat on the sofa with a hot drink._

_This evening, the apartment was as it always was now: tidy, warm and welcoming. Which, in a way, meant that it was like Percival after all._

_Percival immediately got busy in the kitchen, quickly presenting Credence with more hot chocolate and a small plate of Danish pastries that he seemed to have procured out of literally nowhere. He then disappeared into his room, reappearing a few minutes later to join Credence on the sofa._

_He had a box in his hands._

_Percival had nice hands, firm and warm and soft, hands that had lifted him up from the ground so many times, that had rubbed his back and fed him hot soup, that had cleaned and bandaged his wounds without so much as a sting, hands that had wiped away so many tears._

_Now, those hands set the box on the coffee table, and then touched Credence’s back to urge him closer. Credence sipped at his drink, watching Percival’s hands as they began to root through the contents of the box._

_“Her name was Lillian Dawes,” Percival said gently, handing Credence a framed photograph. “Well, Lily.”_

_Credence looked down and gasped._

_The woman in the photo was absolutely stunning. Even in black and white, Credence could see the life in her eyes, the happiness pouring out of her smile. She had long hair tied back with a ribbon, and her slim hands daintily clutched a fringed parasol._

_“She’s beautiful,” Credence breathed._

_“Yeah,” Percival chuckled a little. “She is, isn’t she?”_

_“Tell me about her,” Credence shifted closer to his friend, offering him a kind smile. “What was she like?”_

_Percival smiled back. “She was the love of my life, Credence. You’re right, she was beautiful. So beautiful, and so kind. She would’ve liked you, I think.”_

_Credence giggled, looking back down at the photo._

_“We met completely by accident,” Percival continued. “She was leaving a shop, I was entering it. We spent several moments trying to get past each other. She was laughing the whole time.”_

_Percival was laughing now too. Credence leaned against his shoulder; drink now forgotten._

_“What happened then?” He asked._

_“Well, after we sorted ourselves out, we ended up staying there and talking for a small while,” Percival grinned at him. “She was so funny, Credence, and so sweet. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Her hair was as red as copper, and her eyes were as blue as the sky. When she smiled at me, even the sun seemed to shine a little brighter. And I knew, right then, that she was the woman I was going to marry._

_“She invited me over for dinner that night. She lived in a very large house, right by the lake, with her father and younger siblings. The little ones liked me right away, especially little Kate, but her father took a while to come around._

_“You see, Credence, Lily wasn’t very well. She’d been sickly all her life, and was often feverish, and so we couldn’t really see each other all that often. Her father just wanted to protect her, didn’t want her getting too worked up lest she hurt herself. Some days, he even turned me away at the door, not even letting her take the flowers I’d brought for her.”_

_“Oh no,” Credence murmured._

_He took Percival’s hand. Percival had said Lily was sick, and now he was talking about her in past tense._

_“It turned out to be alright,” Percival smiled. “Jack Dawes was stubborn, yes, but his daughter was stubborn too. When he found out she was sneaking out at night just to come see me, well, of course he was mad. When I brought her home, he looked ready to blow the roof!”_

_“What did he do?”_

_“Well, after cursing me to Hell for the better part of an hour, he ended up thanking me for bringing his daughter home safely, and eventually let me into the house to talk. I was terrified, mind you, but Jack ended up treating me very respectfully. We chatted and debated for a long while, and when Lily reappeared with cups of tea he allowed her to sit beside me and join in the conversation. He decided that perhaps it was best for all of us if we could see each other more. He didn’t want Lily risking hurting herself, but he didn’t want her to be miserable. He loved his daughter, and he respected that she loved me. Of course, there were going to still be some boundaries, seeing as she was sick, and he told me that all he really wanted was for her to be safe. And Credence, that was all I wanted too.”_

_Credence squeezed his friend’s hand. “What happened then?”_

_Percival looked at him, then down to the photo in Credence’s lap. He sighed._

_“She died, several months after our wedding.”_

_Credence gasped. “Oh…”_

_“She’d gotten pregnant, and the stress of it ended up being too much on her body. I did everything I could to save her, but... she died, and so did our child with her. She’d already had the name. James for a boy, or Isadora for a girl.”_

_Credence realized he was crying._

_He was glad that Percival was telling him this story; so glad that Percival trusted him enough to tell him, but of course he also felt devastated that his dear friend had endured so much pain. Lily sounded like such a wonderful woman, and it was such a tragedy that she’d died so soon. If she were alive, not only would Percival have a wife but a child as well. Credence might have even been able to know them, might have had not one but three kind people with him right at this moment._

_“Oh, my boy, it’s okay,” Percival took the photo from his lap; put it back in the box. He pulled Credence against his chest, beginning to rub his back in firm, soothing strokes._

_“I-I’m sorry, Percival,” Credence sobbed gently. “She just sounds so lovely.”_

_Percival nodded. “She was.”_

_“H-how *sniff* long ago w-was this?” Credence asked shakily, just as Percival pulled his handkerchief from his pocket._

_“Six years,” Percival replied, smiling kindly at Credence as he began to wipe away his tears. “We met just after the war, and we were together for just under two years, until she died.”_

_Six years. Percival might’ve had a six year-old child by now. He might’ve had a cheeky little daughter who loved her father, or a solemn little son with eyes as blue as the sky._

_“I’d loved before I met her, of course, and I’ve even loved since her death. But… I’ve never loved anyone the way I loved her.”_

_Percival leaned away from him then; began to unbutton the top of his shirt. He reached down the gap and pulled out a thin silver chain, with two rings dangling at the end._

_“I always keep them hidden,” Percival explained, holding the rings in his hand for Credence to see. “It raises fewer questions.”_

_Credence leaned in to look, already able to tell which ring was Percival’s and which was Lily’s._

_Percival’s ring was rather simple, as Credence would’ve expected, but it was still rather pretty. It was made of silver, with little beads lining the centre, and just the tiniest patch of rust on the inside. Credence held it gently between his fingers, running his thumb over the little beads._

_Lily’s ring was very pretty. It was of an old fashioned design, made of tinted gold and set with jewels. Credence didn’t touch it, worried that it was far too delicate for his clumsy hands, but he stared at it for a long time._

_“It was her mother’s, originally,” Percival said gently, taking the ring in his own fingers. “After she died, Jack decided it would be best if I kept it. He felt that’s what Lily would have wanted.”_

_“It’s beautiful,” Credence murmured, still looking at it. The little jewels practically sparkled in the lamp-light, sending sparks and shiny dots twinkling over Percival’s face and hand. He couldn’t help but think how enchanting his friend looked then, almost fairy-like, with such light dancing over him._

_Credence leaned forward to shift through the box, curious to find out more about his friend’s love._

_Inside the rest of the box, he found:_   
_• A satin ribbon, lilac, one that Lily had always used to tie back her hair_   
_• An old-fashioned hairpin, decorated with little sliver leaves and blue flowers, that she’d worn the night of their wedding_   
_• A lot of dried rose petals_   
_• More photographs, of time spent together by the lake, in Central Park, down the streets of New York_   
_• A pair of earrings that Percival had gifted her, on their first date_   
_• A small stack of envelopes that Credence knew weren’t his to read_   
_• A small but incredibly detailed drawing of an orange cat_

_“Tabitha…” Credence smiled, immediately recognizing the little creature. It was Percival’s own cat. Credence had never thought he’d had her so long._

_“Yeah, I actually bought her for Lily, as a wedding present,” Percival explained. “She’d been very sick the past few weeks, so I thought a little friend would cheer her up when I couldn’t be around. She named her after the cat in the Beatrix Potter books. She always loved those. Lily, not the cat. The cat’s never had a penchant for reading.”_

_Credence giggled, looking around for said cat. He hadn’t seen her yet today, which was odd. Usually, whenever Credence came to the apartment, she was jumping into his arms before he’d even stepped through the door._

_“Oh, she’s out and about today,” Percival grinned, seeming to read his thoughts. “Though I suspect she’ll be back fairly soon, now that you’re here.”_

_Credence giggled again._

_Percival leaned back against the couch, tucking the two rings back under his shirt._

_“What about you, my boy?” He asked then. “Have you ever been in love?”_

_Credence’s choked on his first bite of Danish, taking a minute to cough it out. Percival clapped his back several times, which helped, and then he rubbed Credence’s shoulders soothingly, until he regained his breathing._

_“I’m sorry–”_

_“No, no,” Credence cut him off. “No, Percival, it’s fine. I’m fine, I’m sorry.”_

_He guessed it was fair that Percival ask him it, seeing as how he’d been the one to ask Percival the very same thing in the first place, but that didn’t make it any less surprising._

_“W-well, you know,” Credence didn’t want to seem rude by not answering the question, so he just decided to keep it vague. “There’s not really much chance for romance at the romance, seeing as how most of the kids are, you know, kids. And… you know my ma. She’d never allow for that kind of a thing.”_

_“Yes, I see,” Percival said gravely. He shook his head, looking annoyed. “Bastard woman.”_

_“Mister Graves!” Credence gasped, astonished at such language. His ma would never tolerate such filth from his own mouth, even taking Credence by the ear to wash his mouth out with soap in the bathroom. To see Percival curse so offhandedly, it was so… daring!_

_Percival grinned at him, a cheeky twinkle in his eye._

_“Finish your pastries, sweet.” Percival patted his leg, before standing up. “You can stay for dinner tonight, how about that? And I’ll make extra for Modesty, goodness knows she needs it.”_

_Credence stared up at his friend. He’d known Percival almost three months now, but he was still so overwhelmed by how kind he was, and how effortlessly too. He’d never treated Credence like he expected anything in return, never asked anything of him that he didn’t feel comfortable with. And he’d even started to care for Modesty’s wellbeing too, care for a young girl he’d never even met._

_“Thank you, Percy,” Credence murmured, remembering then about his friend’s morning request._

_The name felt a little odd rolling past his lips; he felt strange addressing such a strong, imposing man with such a child-like nickname, but he quickly decided he liked it all the same. He found himself wondering then if Lily had ever called him Percy too._

_*_

_Percival escorted him back to church a little while after dinner. He’d suggested that perhaps Credence stay the night, once he’d realized how late it had gotten, but Credence had refused. More often than not, Mary Lou took her anger out on Modesty whenever Credence wasn’t around. He never liked to leave his sister alone with her for long._

_Percival’s hand gripped his shoulder tightly as they walked through the darkened streets. Credence clutched the leftover Irish stew in a small ceramic tureen; the heat of the food seeped through the base, warming up his chilly fingers._

_As they turned onto Credence’s street, Percival’s grip only tightened._

_“Credence, wait.”_

_Credence stopped, turning to face his friend. “Is everything okay, Percy?”_

_Percival gripped his shoulders with both hands now. His touch was like fire, seeping through Credence’s thin jacket, warming him up from the outside in._

_“Credence…” Percival touched his cheek. “Credence, I’m going to get you out of there, I promise.”_

_“Percival…” Credence looked down. This wasn’t Percival’s problem. He shouldn’t have to feel responsible for it. Credence was already too much of a burden already._

_“I mean it,” Percival tucked a finger under his chin, tilted his head up to look into his eyes. “That woman is a monster, Credence, and she doesn’t deserve to call herself your mother. One way or another, I’m going to get you out, I promise you. And Modesty too. I would never dream of separating you.”_

_Credence said something then, so rushed that he couldn’t really comprehend what it was, but Percival seemed to have understood it._

_Percival smiled kindly at him, reaching up to bring Credence into a hug._

_“I love you too, Credence.”_

_Credence relaxed immediately into the embrace, tucking his head into the crook of Percival’s shoulder. He loved it when Percival hugged him. It made him feel like he’d just sunk down into a warm bath._

_He whispered the three words again, those three little words that could both tie bonds and break them. Percival whispered them back, whispered how much he truly cared about Credence, and when Credence started to cry, he began to rub his hands over Credence’s back in firm, soothing strokes._

_He kept his arm around Credence for the rest of the way down the street, holding him even closer than before, not letting go even when they were right underneath Credence’s bedroom window._

_“Will you be okay tonight?” Percival murmured, his hand on Credence’s cheek. “I’m sorry I kept you back so late.”_

_Credence refrained from leaning into his touch. “I’ll be okay. You’re with me.”_

_Percival chuckled, though he quickly turned serious again. “I mean when I’m not with you.”_

_Credence looked down, gripping the tureen in one hand so he could hold Percival’s with the other. Percival was always with him; Credence held him in his heart, but of course he wasn’t going to tell his friend that._

_“I’ll be okay,” he said again. “I promise. Thank you Percy.”_

_He leaned forward, tucking his head into the crook of Percy’s shoulder, and whispered those three little words once more._

_“I love you.”_

_Percy didn’t even know, didn’t even realize what Credence really meant; didn’t even realize how Credence truly felt about him._

_“I love you too.”_

_But when Percy pulled him back into one last hug, and whispered those three little words back to him, yet again, Credence decided that what they already had was more than enough for now._

***************************************************************************

Credence woke up with tears in his eyes.

The room was dim, and Credence felt cold even under the covers. He turned on his side; shifted closer to where Abel was still sleeping, seeking the comfort of a close friend.

He looped an arm around Abel’s neck, burying his face in Abel’s nightshirt, sobbing quietly. He didn’t know why, but for some reason he’d woken up feeling so upset. He guessed it must’ve been a dream, though he couldn’t remember exactly what it was he’d been dreaming about, or why it was making him feel this way.

Abel’s heartbeat was like the pounding of a drum, thumping against Credence’s cheek through the fabric of his nightshirt. It comforted Credence, and he snuggled against his friend’s chest, lying still and letting the tears just roll down his cheeks. He found Abel’s hand under the covers, and it was icy cold but comforting all the same. Credence gripped it tightly, and sobbed silently.

Abel began to stir a few minutes later, just as Credence finally stopped crying. Credence dug his face further into Abel’s shirt, trying to hide his reddened eyes and quivering lips. He didn’t want Abel to notice. He didn’t want his friend to get worried.

Abel noticed anyway.

“Credence? Credence, what’s wrong?” Abel’s voice was soft, and sweet, and then his lips were on Credence’s forehead, kissing him gently.

Credence snuggled closer against his friend, this time not trying to hide his face, but simply seeking the comfort of his friend’s embrace. Abel wrapped his arms around him in return, holding him so close it seemed their bodies had become one.

“What’s wrong, sweet boy?” Abel asked again, still kissing Credence. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m sorry,” Credence murmured.

“No, no, it’s okay.” Abel kissed the corner of his mouth. “It’s okay, sweet boy. You can tell me.”

Credence lifted his head, meeting Abel’s eyes.

“I-I don’t actually know,” he replied truthfully, managing a little smile. “I think it must’ve been a dream, but I can’t remember what I was dreaming about.”

Abel chuckled, giving Credence’s shoulder a squeeze. “Well, if that’s all it is…”

He grinned at Credence.

Credence smiled back.

“Good morning,” Abel murmured.

Credence smiled wider.

“Good morning,” he murmured in reply, and kissed the underside of Abel’s chin.

Their hands found each other under the sheets; Abel looped his fingers through Credence’s, squeezing his hand tightly.

Credence relaxed against him, tucking his head into the crook of Abel’s shoulder. He kissed the cool skin of Abel’s neck, as Abel continued to kiss his forehead and along the line of his jaw.

Abel whispered something then, so soft Credence could barely hear it. His lips brushed up against Credence’s skin as he said it, sending chills running down Credence’s spine.

Credence tightened his hand around Abel’s.

“I love you too,” he whispered back.

*

Sara was already preparing breakfast when they walked out of the bedroom, hands intertwined. Beatrice was sitting at the little table, smartly dressed in a black suit and patterned scarf, hair and makeup immaculate, flicking through her morning mail as usual.

Credence smiled at the familiar image, walking over to sit beside her while Abel went to help Sara cook.

Sara grinned at him. Credence grinned back.

Beatrice glanced at him over the page in her hand, one eyebrow cocked. Her eyes studied him for a moment, before flicking back down to whatever she was reading.

“Good morning, Credence Barebone,” she said smartly, eyes still glued to the page.

Credence frowned. He didn’t remember having told her his surname.

She glanced back at him, and then lifted her gaze to glance up at Abel and Sara. She looked back at him, and cocked her eyebrow yet again, before finally returning her gaze to her mail.

“Good morning, Miss Beatrice,” Credence said gently, cautiously.

She looked at him again.

Beatrice was a very imposing woman, even seeming cold at times, never letting her emotions show on her face unless she wanted you to see them. But right now, her eyes told all. Peering at Credence over the top of the page, he could see the caution in them, the same caution he was sure she could see in his own eyes.

She knew. He knew she knew.

Credence frowned again.

“Miss Beatrice,” he began. “Is everything alright?

He heard the intake of breath behind the page, but before she could speak, Abel and Sara were joining them at the table.

Sara smiled at Credence, as she set down a dish of eggs and mixed vegetables. Abel smiled at him too, as he set down a large plate of buttered toast.

Credence stared at the eggs, thinking all of a sudden of the few times he’d spent the night at Percival’s apartment. Those times, Percival would often make eggs and bacon for breakfast. Credence had liked it a lot.

“Sara,” Credence spoke up. “Do you think, one day, we could have eggs and bacon for breakfast?”

Sara looked incredulously at him for a moment, before snorting. Abel laughed too, clapping a hand on Credence’s shoulder.

“What?” Credence raised his eyebrows at them, confused.

“Credence,” Beatrice spoke up then; Credence turned back to her. “Credence, ve’re Juvish.”

Credence nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

Beatrice scoffed, the corner of her lip twitching. “Credence, Juvish people don’t eat bacon.”

“Oh!” Credence eyes widened, but then he found himself laughing too. “Oh my, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“No, no, it’s okay.” Abel slid into the seat beside him, grinning. “We can always buy you bacon, if you like, but you’d have to cook it yourself. You know how to cook, right?”

“Oh, yes,” Credence nodded. “My ma usually made me do all the cooking, although we never had bacon much.”

“Your ma?” Abel glanced at Sara, before turning back to Credence. “Where is your ma now, Credence?”

“Oh!” Credence looked down, surprised at his sudden blatancy. “Oh, well, she died, a while ago.”

I killed her, he thought.

“Ah, I see,” Abel squeezed his shoulder, looking sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Credence.”

“Oh, no, no,” Credence waved his hand. “No it’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

Of course, he refrained from telling them that he wasn’t sad at all, that his ma was dead. He didn’t want to raise too many questions.

Abel took his hand under the table, giving it a little squeeze. Credence squeezed back.

Sara hummed, giving Credence a little knowing glance. He remembered their conversation from the previous afternoon, and knew she knew he wasn’t really that upset. He nodded at her.

She nodded back.

Breakfast passed quickly, and then before Credence knew it Abel and Sara were leaving for work. Sara kissed Credence once on the cheek, smiling widely at him before walking out the door. Abel kissed Credence twice on each cheek, lingering a little on the second kiss, and then followed Sara out into the hallway.

And then Credence was alone with Beatrice.

When he walked back into the kitchen, he was surprised to see her still sitting at the table, sipping what looked like another cup of coffee. He thought she would’ve been getting ready to go herself.

“Don’t you have to go to work?” He found himself asking, and hoped he didn’t sound rude.

Beatrice shook her head, looking up to meet his eyes. “I’ve been granted a veek’s leave, after the trip I just took.”

She looked down at the pile of papers, flicking through them absentmindedly.

“It’s a bit strange, yes,” she admitted. “Not having to go to verk, but I think I vould’ve asked for it anyvay, had they not given me it.”

“Why?” Credence sat down opposite her, so he could look at her without having to crane his neck.

Beatrice sighed, lowering her gaze. She nibbled

“A friend of mine’s fallen ill,” she said, looking back up to meet his eyes. “He’s very irresponsible for himself, so I opted to take care of him for a vile. He’s a very valued member of my verkplace, and there were many vomen, and men as vell, who vanted to take the job, but he vouldn’t take anyvun but me.”

She smiled.

Credence still felt confused. “So… shouldn’t you be with him now?”

Beatrice sighed again, her smiled disappearing. “Yes, yes I should, but.. I vonted to spend zum time vit you first.”

Credence cocked his head. “Why?”

Beatrice’s lip twitched.

“Hold on,” she said, and then she was standing up from the table.

She slipped her hand into the pocket of her skirt, and pulled out a slim, brown stick.

Credence’s eyes popped. “Is that…?”

Beatrice smiled at him. Lifting her hand, she waved the wand in an intricate motion.

And then several things happened at once.

Beatrice’s now empty cup lifted up into the air, and floated over to the sink; the pile of letters and papers straightened themselves up into a neat stack; the bedroom door opened, and out flew Beatrice’s leather satchel and pointed cloche; the stack of papers folded themselves up and disappeared into the bag, which then slung itself over Beatrice’s shoulder; last of all, the cloche positioned itself neatly on her head.

Credence stared at it all in wonder and amazement, and then he stared at her, feeling lost for words.

He leaned back in his seat, exhaling loudly, feeling so very surprised at the revelation but at the same time… not really feeling surprised at all.

“You are a witch,” he finally murmured, able to speak again.

“Ah, so you do know vot I am.” Beatrice lowered her hand, offering him another rare smile. “I thought you might have, but I didn’t vont to tell you until I voz completely sure.”

Her smile disappeared.

“I know vot you are too.”

Credence’s eyes popped again; his breath caught in his throat. He swallowed, and looked down, suddenly unable to meet her eyes.

“Vell… I know vot you vurr,” Beatrice amended. She sat back down opposite Credence, not wanting to seem intimidating. “You see, Credence, I… I voz vun ov the Aurors in the Subway station, that night. I voz vun ov the people who attacked you.”

Credence took another deep breath. He was completely shocked at the piece of new information, but for some reason he felt completely calm?

He looked Beatrice in the eye.

“Are you going to kill me?” He asked, surprised at how normal his voice sounded, surprised at his blatancy in asking such a thing. “You were going to kill me that day, weren’t you?”

Beatrice seemed surprised too, for it took a few moments for her to answer.

“I voz, yes,” she said slowly, looking uncomfortable. “But I voz just following orders, Credence. I had no idea that you vurr only a child. Ve vurr all told only that a magical force voz plaguing the city. Ve didn’t know you vurr a real human being. Ve vurr just trying to protect our kind.”

Credence bit his lip, still feeling confused. “But, that night, when you first met me. You looked so shocked to see me. You knew who I was, didn’t you?”

Beatrice looked down. “Yes, I did know who you vurr.”

Credence raised his eyebrows. “How did you know?”

“Tina Goldstein,” Beatrice sighed then, looking embarrassed. “She approached me after the whole fiasco, told me who you really vurr, that she’d been trying to protect you. She voz so upset. She didn’t talk to me for a very long time. It voz very… It upset me greatly. Ve have been friends for a long time, Credence. I helped train her to become an Auror. Vait, you know vot an Auror is, right?”

“Um, yes.” Credence could remember Percival telling him about it, long ago. “Magical law enforcement, right?”

“Exactly,” Beatrice smiled again. “Anyvay, that voz partly vy I let you stay, Credence. Of course, I vonted to keep an eye on you, now that I knew vot you had inside ov you, but most of all, I vonted to pay back Tina for vot I’d done.”

Beatrice looked down, her smile disappearing. “The vay she looked at me for so long,” she murmured, “It voz like I’d killed her own child, and I guess, in a vay, I had.”

Beatrice reached out then, her hand cupping Credence’s cheek. Her eyes met his, blueberry into brown.

It was the first time she’d ever touched him in such a manner.

“She’s not much older than you, Credence,” Beatrice continued, “you know that, but sometimes I think she sees you like her own son. She really loves you, you know. Now that she knows I’ve been keeping you safe, she’s forgiven me for vot I’ve done.”

She sighed.

“Credence, I hope you can forgive me too.”

Credence gazed back into her eyes, seeing the desperation and regret written so clearly there. He thought about it, about the pain he’d felt that day. They’d hurt him so much, and Beatrice had been one of them, but here she was, saying she was sorry.

Credence’s ma had always told him that sorry meant nothing, that it was nothing more than a pathetic excuse not to receive the punishment he deserved. Over and over, she’d told him that sorry wasn’t good enough, that forgiveness was a virtue he could never deserve. And yet, whenever he didn’t apologize for his actions, she’d bend him over her knee and whip him until he couldn’t sit down with crying out in pain.

Credence wasn’t like her.

Credence was fair. Credence was merciful. Credence was a good person.

Beatrice had hurt him, but she had also helped him. She had let him stay in her home, and she made sure he never had to skip a meal. She’d taken his scarred hands and bandaged them up, humming a sweet tune all the while. She was stern, yes, but like Credence she was fair. She was merciful. She was a good person. And here she was, saying sorry for what she’d done wrong in the past, and Credence could count the number of people who’d ever done that on one hand.

Credence reached out a hand to grasp hers. Her hand was knobby and pale, like his, and like Abel’s it was cool to the touch. Credence held it tightly.

“I forgive you,” Credence said gently, smiling at his friend. “I forgive you what you did in the Subway, and I understand it wasn’t your true intention to hurt me. And I thank you, Beatrice, for letting me stay here. Thank you for letting me a part of your family.”

Beatrice smiled at him. She patted his hand.

“It’s my pleasure,” she replied.

“Now,” she stood up again, smoothing down her suit. “Credence?”

Credence stood up too, raising his eyebrows. “Yes?”

Beatrice slipped her wand back into her pocket. She smiled at him, a sudden twinkle dancing in her eyes.

“Credence,” she said again. “I’ve been meaning to do this since the day I met you.”

Credence cocked his head.

Beatrice didn’t reply verbally; she simply held out her hand.

And after but a moment’s hesitation, Credence decided to take it.

Beatrice grinned at him. “Brace yourself.”

“Wha-?” Credence was cut off as a sudden wind instantly sprang up in the room, whooshing around them like a hurricane. Beatrice held tightly onto him as Credence felt a pull in his gut, and then there was the familiar sensation of falling down a dark hole, and the world fell away beneath them.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

When they landed back on their feet, the first thing Credence did was fall over.

He managed to catch himself on his hands, refraining from hitting his face on the ground, but he stayed on the floor for a while. He felt like he was going to throw up, and he didn’t want to stand up again until the feeling had subsided.

Beatrice crouched beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you alright?” She asked gently.

Credence cleared his throat, swallowing down with great difficulty the small amount of bile that had risen up into his mouth. He coughed and sputtered, trying to rid away the bad taste.

“Y-yes,” he eventually managed to reply. “Yes, I’m alright. I’m sorry, Miss Beatrice. I, uh… I haven’t done that in a while.”

Beatrice raised her eyebrows.

“I, uh…” Credence looked down. “I had a friend, once, a wizard friend. This was before I met you all. We used to do this all the time. But… I never really got used to it.”

Credence chuckled.

Beatrice regarded him seriously, rubbing little circles over his back.

She pulled her wand out again and pointed it a nearby cobblestone; it turned into a glass! She tapped her wand on the rim and a clear fluid filled the glass. She offered it to Credence.

“It’s voter,” she explained, and Credence took it gratefully, downing it all in one gulp.

Beatrice kept rubbing his back, and refilled the glass with another tap of her wand.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” She asked kindly.

Credence smiled at her, and quickly downed the rest of the water. “Yes, I’m okay. I’m sure. Thank you.”

Beatrice took his hand; she stood up, lifting him with her. She waved her hand down his body, and then immediately the queasiness in his stomach disappeared. Magic.

Credence smiled at her. “Thank you, Miss Beatrice.”

Beatrice hummed in response. She looked him up and down, her eyes suddenly widening, and then she bit back a laugh.

Credence raised his eyebrows, looking down. “What is – oh!”

He was still in his nightgown and slippers!

“Oh my!” Beatrice laughed loud and long, something Credence had practically never seen her do. “My, I apologize Credence. I completely didn’t notice!”

She took her wand out of her pocket again, and waved it down his body, the way she’d just done with her hand. A current of warmth passed through Credence’s body, and then to his amazement his clothes started changing right then and there!

He moved his hands over his crotch, panicking for just a slight moment that he was going to end up naked, but then the transition finished and he was dressed in a completely new outfit.

Well, more like his usual outfit. Credence really only had one outfit of his own, but he felt absurd asking for more clothes. Much of the time, he liked to borrow Abel’s own clothes, and luckily his friend never seemed to think it rude – in fact, he even seemed to like Credence wearing his clothes! Ill-fitting as they were, Credence liked to wear them too. After Abel had left for the day, sometimes he liked to take one of friend’s sweaters and pull it on, or wrap one of Abel’s scarves around his neck. Abel’s clothes often smelled like Abel did; a sweet pastry aroma with an undertone of rose-scented perfume, one that Abel liked to dab just behind his ears and underneath his suit lapels. More often than not, he would full the fabric over his nose and breathe it all in. The smells comforted him, especially when he ever found himself feeling lonely, all alone in the apartment for most of the day.

Right now, Credence was wearing his own clothes, the ones Abel had bought for him: pale pink shirt, black spotted tie, grey sweater, black trousers and shoes. He was wearing a hat too, he also realized, and when he took it off he was pleased to find it was his new black porkpie, with the grey band. He wondered where his pyjamas had disappeared off to, but he guessed it was most likely that Beatrice had sent them back to the apartment.

He grinned at Beatrice, glad at what she’d picked out for him. That seemed to be a handy spell, actually, for when one was in a hurry. Perhaps that was how she got ready so quickly herself.

Credence looked around, wondering for the first time of their whereabouts. He knew what Beatrice had just done was a magical method of transportation known as Apparition, and it was more common in America than the other popular method of riding broomsticks, as Percival had told him once. She had to have taken him somewhere, but looking around at the finely structured houses on each side of them, Credence couldn’t for the life of him work out where they were.

He looked back at Beatrice.

“Where are we?” He asked her.

Beatrice was frowning around at the houses herself, seeming just as lost as Credence was. She looked back down at him, quickly regaining her usual composure.

“Veathersbury,” she said primly. “Ve’re in Veathersbury, a vizarding neighbourhood. Though ve’re a little further down the street than I intended… Nevermind,” Beatrice grinned at him. “It’ll just mean more time to talk.”

Credence looked around again, wondering then what it looked like to the non-magical eye. Percival had told him once about the MACUSA headquarters, how it secretly resided in the Woolworth building, invisible to the no-maj’s. Perhaps circumstances were the same here?

“The friend I mentioned to you,” Beatrice spoke again, interrupting his thoughts. “The one I’m taking care of. He’s actually residing here for the time being.”

Credence cocked his head. “Am I going to meet him?”

“Nein,” Beatrice replied. “He’s not qvite fit yet to receive guests, but… perhaps you two could… meet, at a later date, ven he feels vell enough. No, I’m taking you there now to meet the Goldstein sisters, outside his house.”

Credence lit up like a torch. “I’m going to see Miss Tina?”

Beatrice smiled at him. “Yes, and Miss Qveenie too. Qveenie in particular is very eager to meet you. I asked Tina if she vould be so kind to take care ov you today, and ov course she agreed, and then Qveenie insisted on coming too. You see, Credence, Tina has been taking care of my friend since yesterday afternoon, vile I’ve been at home, and now ve’re going to make a svitch ven ve arrive. I’m going to stay vit my friend, and she’s going to stay vit you.”

Credence hummed in response, indicating he understood.

“Miss Beatrice,” he began. “What is your friend’s name, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I don’t,” Beatrice half-smiled at him. “His name is James O’Flaherty. He’s also an Auror, part of the Department of Major Investigations. We’ve been partners for a very long time.”

Beatrice smiled.

“He’s a good man,” she said. “And a good friend. I’m glad to be taking care ov him.”

Credence cocked his head, and smiled. “Is he your sweetheart?” He asked. “You seem fond of him.”

“James? Nein, no,” Beatrice chuckled, not seeming at all fazed by Credence’s question. “Ve did date for a time, back ven ve first met, but ve ended up deciding it voz best to maintain a strictly professional relationship. There’s not much room for romance, anyvay, being an Auror. Now, ve are just close friends. Very close friends.”

Credence nodded again. “Like you and Sara?”

“Ja, something like that.” Beatrice nodded back, raising a hand to adjust the knot of her scarf.

They walked in silence for several moments more, passing house after house. Beatrice looked around impatiently, tutting to herself.

“Ve’re almost there,” she eventually said. “I apologize Credence, I’ve never been much good at Apparition. Back in Germany ve alvays used broomsticks.”

“That’s okay,” Credence replied, smiling. He didn’t mind how long it took to get there. All he could think about was that he was going to see Miss Tina, and he was going to meet her sister, and they were going to spend the whole day together.

He was going to see his friend.

And they were going to spend the whole day together.

“Thank you Miss Beatrice,” Credence said then, gently. “Thank you for everything you’ve ever done for me.”

He felt so overwhelmed with emotion in this current moment. He felt like an overflowing glass of water, like a ray of sunshine pouring through the window pane. He was going to see his friend, and he felt so completely and utterly happy, but all he could do was whisper his gratitude, when he felt like he could sing it from the rooftops of the very buildings he was walking past.

Beatrice hummed, but she didn’t sound pleased. When Credence looked back at her, her face was a sudden mask of stone.

Credence’s wide smile faded slightly; he took his friend’s hand, concerned.

“Miss Beatrice? Is everything alright?”

She glanced at him, and hummed again.

“That’s something else I’ve been meaning to bring up vit you,” she murmured.

“Hmm?” Credence felt confused.

Beatrice looked at him fully, stopping in her tracks. Credence stopped with her. She put a hand on his shoulder.

“Credence,” she said seriously. “Zumthing you have to know… You don’t have to thank me for treating you like a human being.”

Credence blinked, feeling confused. “What do you mean?” He asked. “Of course I should thank you for being nice to me.”

“No, no, that’s not vot I meant.” Beatrice waved her hand. “I’m talking about being a decent human being, about treating others the way they should be treated. Favours, gifts, random kindnesses, those are things to be thankful for, not food and a bed.”

Credence raised his eyebrows, still feeling confused.

Beatrice leaned closer to him. “Credence, I know who your mother was. I know about the things she did. I know vot she did to you. I think I understand how she’s made you feel about kindness, and love, as if they’re things that have to come with a price.”

Credence looked down, nodding. That was exactly how he’d felt.

“Vell, as you probably understand by now, the bitch voz wrong.”

Credence clapped a hand over his mouth, trying to refrain from laughing. The blatancy!

Beatrice grinned at him, but she quickly turned serious again.

“Credence,” she continued. “The thing about love, is… it’s supposed to be unconditional. You never have to thank zumone for letting you sleep in a warm bed, or for giving you a good meal. You never have to thank zumone for buying you clothes, or for checking up on you to make sure you’re okay, or for zaving you from being hurt. Of course, if you vont to thank them, go ahead,” she added. “But I hope you can understand that those aren’t things you have to be thankful for.

“Ve all have vonts,” she concluded, “and ve all have needs. You never have to feel grateful to zumone for giving you vot you need, and people who expect gratitude from you for granting you these basic needs are… honestly not vurth your time. Do you understand?”

Credence nodded. He felt a little overwhelmed by the sudden speech, but he understood. “I don’t have to thank someone for treating me the way I should be treated.”

“Exactly,” Beatrice smiled. “But of course, this is all up to you. It is your decision how you feel about something. What I say is ov course very important–“

Credence snorted.

“But in the end, your opinion is yours and yours alone,” Beatrice finished, patting his hand.

“I know,” Credence smiled back. “I understand. Thank you for the advice.”

Beatrice chuckled, clapping his shoulder.

She stepped forward again, gesturing down the street. “Shall ve continue?”

Credence smiled in reply, and they resumed walking at a slightly quicker pace.

“Miss Beatrice,” Credence spoke up. “How do you know about my mother? About Mary Lou? Did you know about the church?”

Beatrice nodded. “I’d been vary of her church from the start, but as an Auror, I felt it my personal duty to investigate your mother’s verk. I decided it voz my responsibility to find out if she might turn out to be a threat to vizarding secrecy. After it voz qvickly discovered she was nothing more than a pompous cow spouting silly religious fantasies, most of the Department forgot about her, but… I couldn’t get her out of my mind. Mary Lou reminded me very much of another voman, from long ago, a voman who hurt two people I hold very dear in my heart.”

Credence didn’t need to be told who those two people were; he had a feeling he already knew.

“Abel and Sara,” Beatrice confirmed, and Credence nodded solemnly in reply.

“I kept attending her sermons,” Beatrice continued, “despite how much it disgusted me being there. She voz a beastly voman, absolutely beastly, though I guess that’s something you don’t need to be told.”

Credence nodded.

“But even ven I found out she was hurting you and the other children, there wasn’t much I could do, magical security-vise,” Beatrice looked downcast. “Most of the vizarding community try not to dally too much in non-magical affairs, and performing magic on a Torcher would mean instant expulsion from the Department.”

Credence cocked his head. “I’m sorry, a Torcher? What’s that?”

“Oh, yes, you don’t know,” Beatrice’s lip twitched. “The Americans call them No-maj’s, but in Germany ve call them Torchers. It is our verd for non-magical people.”

Credence nodded in understanding. “Why Torchers?”

Beatrice hummed. “Back in the 1600s, most ov us magical folk vere rounded up and burned alive at the stake. A lot of non-magical folk vere killed too, for silly things like colds and red hair, but ve have remained mainly still very bitter about the whole ordeal. Most of us decided on a negative term for the non-magical folk, and the term has stuck, even 300 years later. Perhaps it’s unfair, but I’d say ve have every right to still feel angry for the damage done to our kind, sort ov like how some black people refer to vite people as crackers.”

“But anyvay, your mother had every right to be called a Torcher. The whole time I sat through her sermons, it voz like the 1600s all over again. I felt I vould’ve burnt her alive myself if it didn’t mean I’d be dismissed from my job.

“She didn’t like me from the start, I knew that,” Beatrice laughed bitterly. “She didn’t like Jews as a whole, I don’t think, and it voz very easy to tell that I was Juvish myself. It voz probably the nose,” Beatrice tapped the little indentation under her own nose. “Many of us Juvish have an indent like this, though I don’t know how myself how that came about. Though ve do actually have an old folktale, that the reason for this bump being that an Angel struck us in the face before ve vere born.”

Credence laughed. “That’s so strange!”

Beatrice chuckled. “It’s not easy to see it from a distance, though, and I made sure to sit as far avay from the bitch as I could. Perhaps it voz the scarf…”

Credence looked at her scarf now, the same one she wore on almost a daily basis. “Isn’t that just a regular scarf?”

“No, not necessarily.” Beatrice said the last word slowly, as she held up the ends of the scarf. “Ve call this a Tallit, and vile it is mainly reserved for Prayer, I prefer to vear mine commonly. It is very comfortable.”

Credence reached out to touch the fabric, as she held it out to him. The fabric was sleek and soft; it did indeed seem very comfortable.

Beatrice hummed. “Anyvay, unfortunately, that meant I couldn’t do much digging around vit the bitch vatching me like a hawk. I don’t think she vould’ve vanted a voman getting too close to her children, much less a Juvish voman, so I decided perhaps it voz best if I asked a friend to votch after her and the children instead, somevun more suitable to Mary Lou’s eye. Somvun respectable, and handsome perhaps, somvun that could get close to the kids under the guise of seeming interested in vot she had to say. And Credence, I had just the friend.”

Beatrice put her hand on his shoulder.

“You see, Credence… I voz the vun who asked Percival Graves to look after you.”

Credence stopped in his tracks, gaping at Beatrice. “You… you…?”

He didn’t know what to say; this was so surprising, though he guessed it did make sense. Beatrice was an Auror, as she’d told him, and Percival had been the Head of Magical Security. It seemed rather likely they would’ve known each other. And he remembered, albeit a little faintly, of Percival telling him about a friend that used to attend his Ma’s sermons. Had that been Beatrice?

Credence cleared his throat. “You knew him?” He found himself asking. “You knew Percy?”

Beatrice chuckled. “I think you and I are two ov the only people he ever let call him that. Qveenie made the mistake of calling him that once, and he responded by calling her the wrong name for over a veek. Needless to say, she qvickly got the hint, but she still called him that venever he vasn’t in the room.”

Credence noticed the way she was referring to Percival in past tense, but he decided that now wasn’t the time for that conversation, so he just chuckled.

“Were you close?” He asked.

Beatrice hummed. “Qvite. He voz but an Auror himself ven I first began at MACUSA, and he helped train me after I voz accepted into the Academy. He voz such a cocky bastard back then, but I’d say he’d really zoftened over the years. This voz around the time his vife voz still alive. You know about her, don’t you?”

Credence nodded. “Lily.”

“Yes,” Beatrice smiled at him. “Ve ended up becoming cloze friends, and so eventually did Lily and I. Ah, she voz such a lovely voman. If she and Percy hadn’t been in love, I think I might have tried to pursue her myself.”

Credence giggled.

“She vould’ve liked you, Credence,” Beatrice put her hand on his shoulder. “She loved children, though I guess you aren’t much ov a child anymore, are you?”

Credence shook his head. He’d learned so much the past few months, so much about life and love. He felt like he’d shed his old self like an old skin, and had emerged from the remains no longer a boy but a man. He felt like he could call himself a man.

“Vell, you vould’ve been a child when she voz alive. This was all qvite a vile ago.”

Credence hummed in response. “Six years, I know.”

They walked in silence for several minutes, until Credence noticed, with a rush of happiness, two specks of grey and pink in the distance. Before the two women even came into focus, Credence could tell immediately who they were.

“What about you?” He found himself asking, now smiling so widely his teeth hurt. “What about your family?”

“Vot about my family?” She snapped, her voice sharp. She seemed suddenly very offended.

Credence’s smile faded just slightly. He looked down, already regretting his insensitivity. He supposed it was a touchy subject, that.

Beatrice sighed, and squeezed his shoulder. She cleared her throat, and when she spoke again, her tone had softened.

“I apologize, Credence,” she said gently. “That’s not really zumthing I speak about with many people, though… I guess it’s okay to tell you.

“You see, Credence, my family is vun of the oldest vizarding families, and the only Juvish vizarding family, in all of the country. There vere so many of us, once upon a time, but most of my ancestors vere killed in the vitch trials. And even now, there’s perhaps not much more than two, three thousand of us German vitches and vizards left, as far as I know, anyvay.”

Credence took her hand. “That’s horrible. Miss Beatrice, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Beatrice smiled at him, though it seemed a little forced. “I try not to be too bitter myself, but of course I can’t help but vonder of the family I vould’ve had now, had the trials never happened. For all I know, if I had that family back home, I might’ve never left my country.”

“Why did you leave?” Credence asked, genuinely curious. She’d never talked about such things with him before.

“It was partly as a favour to my parents,” Beatrice replied, looking thoughtful. “They didn’t vont me stuck in such a dismal country, surrounded by so much pain due to the vor. They vanted better for me, and they decided America voz the ticket. They refrained from letting me know, of course, that America voz fairly plagued by the vor as well.

“Anyvay, I decided to go, mostly to make them happy, and of course it voz complete and utter hell for the first two years. But then, the vor ended, and by then I had managed to land a job as a secretary in the Department of Magical Security. Qvickly, I realized how much I liked the idea of magical law enforcement, how exciting it all seemed, and so, ven the trials came around, I took the test, and I got in. Several months of strict training later, I landed the job, and I’ve been verking as an Auror ever since.”

Beatrice sighed. “It is very nice here, yes, much nicer than it voz in Germany, but I miss my family very much. I vould like to go back, vun day, but… Alma Trelawney feels it is best that I never return. She said it vould be dangerous for me to be there, though I can’t imagine vy. She doesn’t seem to know either... She is a strange voman, that one.”

Credence nodded, thinking about Miss Trelawney’s unusual behaviour from the previous morning, about all those things she’d said to him. How had she known all those things about him, with such certainty?

“Alma is a Seer,” Beatrice said then. “She can see into the future, and she knows things about people, just by reading the lines of their palm. She’s been trying to make a career of it, back in England, but right now she’s verking as a waitress at a little café in Hogsmeade. That’s a magical village, just a little vays off from Hogvarts, the British school of magic.”

Alma Trelawney had read his palm.

“I vent to Durmstrang myself, the Scandinavian institute of magic.”

What had she seen? What did she now know about him?

“I didn’t much like it there. Many of the professors vurr extremely rude, especially to us vitches. And there woz the whole bad reputation, as vell. Durmstrang puts qvite a concerning emphasis on teaching dark magic. But at least Durmstrang’s education system isn’t qvite as hazardous as Hogvarts’. In all honesty, that school really needs to get itself in order. I’ve heard myself that they actually hoard monsters inside the school, right underneath the childrens’ toes!”

“Where is Miss Trelawney now?” Credence asked then. “Is she still in America?”

He would like to see her again, even if she did make him a little uncomfortable. He would like to talk to her.

Beatrice glanced at him, a little surprised by the sudden change in topic, but then she hummed. “Yes, of course. She’s staying in the country for a few veeks, and she’ll most likely be coming to see me today. I’d invite her over for dinner today, but I don’t know if I’ll getting home that early… Perhaps zum other time, hmm?” She bumped his shoulder.

Credence nodded, humming in response.

“She’s a lovely voman,” Beatrice said then. “Really, she is, even if she does come across a little odd. And she’s very clever as vell. She voz sorted into Ravenclaw, her first year at Hogvarts. That’s the smart house.”

Credence laughed.

“She’s alvays vonted to teach at Hogvarts herself”, Beatrice added. “But unfortunately the current Divination teacher has no plans to retire for a long vile yet. It’s a pity – Alma’s Sight is far more powerful than that silly oaf’s. Her predictions are scarily correct, and she can read people like a book. When we first met… it was like she’d known me all my life. She knew about Abel and Sara, even before I’d met them myself.”

“Really?” Credence’s eyes widened. “That’s… that’s incredible.”

“Yes. Yes it is.” Beatrice smiled at him, and he smiled back, and it was at that moment that they stopped in front of the Goldstein sisters.

“Miss Tina!” Credence immediately launched himself into his friend’s arms, wrapping his own arms around her tightly. “Miss Tina, I’m so glad to see you!”

“Credence!” Miss Tina laughed, holding him back just as tightly. “I’m glad to see you too.”

He heard unfamiliar laughter from beside them, and looked up to see who he knew must be Queenie Goldstein, Miss Tina’s sister.

Miss Queenie was a very pretty, very friendly looking young woman. She was dressed head to toe in pink, and it took Credence but a moment to realize he’d seen her before.

“I know you,” Credence smiled at her. “I saw you at the bakery yesterday.”

So that’s why he’d thought she looked familiar. It was because she was Miss Tina’s sister. They shared the same friendly glint in their eyes, the same sheen to their dark hair, though Miss Queenie’s hair was much curlier than her sister’s.

“Ah, you did!” Miss Queenie’s voice was light and sweet, like the chiming of a bell. “Yes, I almost bumped into you, and your friend Abel.”

She stepped closer to him, reaching out a hand to grasp his cheek. She smiled at him, and it was like nothing else he’d ever seen before. She was absolutely stunning, perhaps the prettiest woman he’d ever seen. He decided then that he liked her immensely, already feeling so comfortable around her. He felt like they’d been friends a very long time.

“Oh, that’s sweet.” Miss Queenie smiled wider, her eyes twinkling. “It’s so nice to meet you too, honey. Teeny’s told me so much about you.”

Credence smiled at Miss Tina. She smiled back, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

Beatrice cleared her throat, and they all turned to face her. Credence had almost forgotten she was there.

She smiled at the two sisters, absentmindedly fiddling with the fringe of her scarf.

“How is James?” She asked, raising her eyebrows at them.

Miss Tina looked up at the house, her arm still around Credence. “He’s sleeping right now, he’s been sleeping all morning,” she told Beatrice. “We left him a note, so he knows you’re coming, and Queenie’s already set some breakfast out for when he wakes up. It’ll stay hot until he starts eating, so you don’t have to worry about cooking.”

Beatrice sighed, sounding relieved. “Thank you, Qveenie.”

Miss Queenie leaned in close to Credence. “Can’t cook for the life of her,” she whispered, making Credence giggle.

Beatrice cocked her brow. “I heard that.”

Miss Queenie laughed.

Beatrice cleared her throat again. “Alright, I suppose I’d better head in. Don’t vont him to vake up vit no vun there.”

Miss Tina hummed, nodding in response. She tightened her arm around Credence.

“We’ll take care of him,” she said firmly, smiling at Credence. Credence leaned his head on her shoulder.

Beatrice nodded at them, looking pleased. She stepped closer to Credence, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“The girls vill take you home tonight,” she told him. “I don’t know how late I’ll be getting back, but if Abel and Sara get home before I do, vill you tell them I von’t be long?”

Credence nodded. “Of course.”

Beatrice smiled. “Thank you Credence. Have a good day.”

Credence smiled back. “Thank you, Miss Beatrice. You too.”

Miss Tina’s arm tightened around his shoulders, and Miss Queenie looped her left arm through his right. As they began to walk down the street, Credence watched Miss Beatrice as she stepped up into the house, until the front door closed behind her.

It was a nice house, the one where her friend lived. It was of a simple, yet elegant design, painted white but not blindingly so. It was the kind of house Percival would’ve liked, he thought on a whim. Back when Credence had know him, he’d always been meaning to move out of his apartment.

He turned back to look at the sisters. They both smiled kindly at him, and Miss Queenie patted his hand.

He smiled back, wondering what they were going to do that day. It was still only morning, after all.

“Well,” Miss Queenie spoke up, grinning at him. “We thought that – Teeny? Would you like to tell him?”

“Hmm?” Credence felt very confused. He hadn’t even asked the question out loud, and already they were answering it. Was this another form of magic?

“Queenie,” Miss Tina sounded stern, but Miss Queenie only giggled.

“What’s wrong?” Credence was so confused.

Miss Queenie giggled again, squeezing his arm. “I’m a Legilimens, honey,” she told him. “I can read minds.”

Credence stared at her, amazed. “You can read minds? You can read… my mind?”

Miss Queenie nodded. “That’s right! It comes very easy to me, but… I’m afraid it’s not always easy to control. I’d say it’s a bit like a listening to the radio, except… you’ve got a lot of radios on all at the same time. You see?”

Credence still felt a little shocked, but he thought yes, testing her. Miss Queenie beamed at him, and he knew she’d understood.

“Wonderful!” Miss Queenie squeezed his arm again.

“That’s extraordinary,” Credence murmured. Miss Queenie looked to be not much older than him, perhaps even the same age, but already she seemed so powerful. He wondered if she’d been born with it, just like Miss Trelawney had been born with the Sight, as Beatrice had told him.

“Aw, thank you honey!” Miss Queenie beamed at him. “Yes, I was born with it. I’ve been able to do it my whole life. Drove Teeny absolutely insane when we were little!”

“Still does,” Miss Tina murmured, though good-naturedly, and she smiled at her sister.

Credence giggled.

“Anyway, Credence,” Miss Tina looked at him again. “We thought we’d take you to see a picture this morning, and then afterwards you can come back to our apartment for lunch. How would you like that?”

Credence brightened. “A magical picture?”

Miss Tina laughed. “Nah, a no-maj picture. We don’t have many magical pictures, although we do have some historical documentaries back home. But no, they’re not very fun. I’m sure you’d rather go out today, huh?” She bumped his elbow, grinning.

Credence thought about it. The idea of magical history did sound very interesting, but he could tell Miss Tina really wanted to spend some quality time with him, to have fun. He wanted that too.

“Yeah, that sounds fun,” Credence grinned at her. “What were you thinking of watching?”

“There’s a small nickelodeon, just a few blocks down.” Miss Tina pointed down the street with her free hand. “It’s pretty cheap, since it’s been around for a quite a while, and it shows a different film every day. I like to go there on my days off. I believe today’s film is The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. I’ve seen it before, and it’s very good, though perhaps a little frightening.” She chuckled, rubbing his shoulder. “What do you think, Credence?”

Credence thought about it. Miss Tina had said it was frightening, and she’s seen what he could become. The film must be very frightening indeed, if she said it was so.

Credence didn’t like frightening.

“Oh no, honey,” Miss Queenie spoke up then, patting his arm. “Teeny doesn’t really think it’s all that scary, she just said so because she thought it might be scary to you. She thinks it’s pretty corny, actually.”

“Queenie.”

“Sorry, hon!” Miss Queenie giggled, not seeming sorry at all.

She grinned cheekily at Credence, and he smiled back politely. In all honesty, he felt a little uncomfortable at her being able to read him so easily, but he was glad that at least she didn’t seem angry at what he was thinking. He didn’t want her to think he was rude.

Miss Queenie bit her lip, frowning then. Credence could tell she’d heard what he just thought, but was now refraining from answering. It was strange situation, he thought then. He didn’t really know how to feel about it.

He leaned against Miss Tina, seeking the familiar comfort of her embrace. She was wearing a velvet jacket over her blouse, and Credence was pleased to find how soft it felt under his cheek.

“I’m okay with going,” he said then, in response to Miss Tina’s last question. “I haven’t seen many films before. It sounds exciting!”

Miss Tina grinned at him. “Alright then, we’ll head down now, if that’s what you’d like.”

“Okay,” Credence smiled back.

Even if the movie did turn out to be frightening, he decided he wasn’t going to let that bother him. He was with Miss Tina now, and even if they spent the whole day shoveling dung, he was certain he wouldn’t rather be anywhere but by her side.

“Oh, before I forget,” Miss Queenie spoke up then, and Credence turned to find her rooting through her purse. She quickly withdrew a white paper bag, and handed it to him. “Here you go, honey.”

“Thank you.” Credence smiled as he accepted the package, and smiled wider when he saw what was inside.

“Sweets!” He exclaimed, for indeed they were: caramel taffies, peppermints in plastic wrapping, licorice allsorts, chocolates, lemon suckers, boiled sweets in every colour!

“Thank you, Miss Queenie!” He beamed at his new friend, immediately digging through the edible treasures. He pulled out a caramel for himself, and offered a peppermint to Miss Tina.

“Thank you, sweetie,” Miss Tina smiled at him, accepting the treat. “These are my favourite.”

She squeezed his shoulder.

Credence put his arm around her waist, smiling at her as she popped the peppermint into her mouth. He unwrapped his caramel, putting it between his teeth to yank off a small mouthful. The good thing about taffy was that it lasted a long time.

He held up the bag to Miss Queenie, smiling through the sticky treat. “Would you like one, Miss?”

“Oh yes, thank you!” Miss Queenie reached into the bag eagerly, pulling out one of the licorice squares. “I’m absolutely mad for these!”

Credence giggled.

The three of them shared the bag of sweets the rest of the way to the theater. Miss Tina and Miss Queenie ended up squabbling over which one of them could have the last lemon drop, but then Credence reached into the bag and cheekily popped it into his mouth.

They both gaped at him, and for a moment he felt just the tiniest bit fearful that they would hit him for it, but then they both started laughing so loud a dog several houses away started barking.

Credence laughed too, his mouth now full of the sour, distinct flavour. He’d never had such a sweet as this, and in all honesty he found the sensation to be a little odd. Why would anyone make sour candy? Wasn’t candy supposed to be sweet?

It was a bit embarrassing to find that he didn’t much like the candy after all, but he was glad that Miss Tina and Miss Queenie had stopped arguing. He didn’t want things to escalate. He didn’t want to be caught in the middle of a fight.

Miss Queenie took his hand then, and held it tightly.

“We’re not mad, honey,” she said softly, rubbing her thumb soothingly over his. “You don’t have to worry. We would never be angry at you.”

“Hmm?” Miss Tina raised her brows, looking questioningly at her sister. “Is everything okay, Queenie?”

She stopped then, and Credence and Queenie stopped with her.

“I hope so,” Miss Queenie said in reply, and she squeezed his hand again. “The poor thing’s just feeling a little nervous, I think.”

Miss Tina’s arm tightened around him, and then she was touching his cheek. Credence immediately leaned into her touch.

“Credence?” Her voice was calm now, and soft. “Credence, are you feeling okay?”

Credence nodded silently. He felt a little uncomfortable, yes, but he guessed he felt more or less alright. He was with Miss Tina now, and she always made him feel safe.

“I’m okay,” he said out loud, nodding again.

Miss Tina squeezed his shoulder. “Credence, anytime you feel uncomfortable, you can tell us, okay? If you don’t want Queenie to read your mind, that’s perfectly understandable.”

She said this last part more to Miss Queenie than to Credence, and the former blushed.

“And if you feel I’m being a bit inconsiderate,” she continued, “or a bit brash, that’s fine too. Credence, we’re here for you, to show you a good time. It all depends on what you want to do.”

Credence looked her in the eyes, immediately trusting her words. He managed a little smile, and she grinned back.

“I understand.” He nodded at her, and than at Miss Queenie. She smiled at him.

“And you don’t have to worry about us arguing.” Miss Tina spoke again, and he turned back to face her. She squeezed his shoulder. “Being sisters, it’s bound to happen, but more often than not it’s just friendly banter, you know? We would never dream of putting you in the middle of anything serious. I want you to feel safe when you’re with us, Credence.”

“I always feel safe when I’m with you,” Credence said softly. “I love you, Miss Tina.”

“Oh, Credence.” Miss Tina’s eyes sparkled, and then she was pulling him into a hug. “I love you too.”

He immediately relaxed against her, reaching up to return the warm embrace. He rested his head on her shoulder, and she rubbed his back soothingly.

They eventually resumed their journey. They weren’t allowed to bring food into the theater, so Miss Queenie quickly polished off the licorice allsorts, while Credence ate the rest of the chocolates. Miss Tina tipped the peppermints and the last two lemon suckers into her pocket, winking cheekily at Credence. Credence giggled.

Inside the theater, Miss Tina purchased a hot dog and soda from the concession stand, a rather recent addition to the old-fashioned building, and Miss Queenie bought a tub of popcorn and soda for her to Credence to share. Credence had never had popcorn before. It smelled wonderful, and when he tried one from the box, it tasted even better!

Miss Queenie grinned at him, placing her hand on his back as she led him into the cinema.

The film turned out to be quite excellent, in Credence’s opinion, though perhaps it was a little confusing. Miss Tina kept her arm around him the entire time they were watching, and when it did turn out too frightening he hid his face in her shoulder. She kissed his forehead whenever this happened, and squeezed his own shoulder comfortingly, and he felt safe.

He stayed tucked against her side for most of the film, his head tucked into the crook of her shoulder. The popcorn was delicious, and he and Miss Queenie polished it all off in no time.

He thought then about Abel and Sara. He thought Sara would like Miss Queenie very much, and that perhaps one day they could all come back to the theater together. He thought about spending the whole day with his new friends, with all of his favourite people, and he smiled. He liked that idea.

After the film ended, Miss Tina and her sister escorted him back to their home: a tenement apartment on the west side of the city. Miss Tina fished out from her pocket a small key, but before she opened the door she turned to Credence.

“Now, you have to be very quiet, Credence.” Miss Tina lowered her voice. “You see, we’re not supposed to have men in the building.”

Credence cocked his head, confused. “Why not?”

Miss Tina chuckled. “It’s the landlady. She’s a silly old woman, doesn’t like men. So we’ve got to be very quiet, okay?”

“Okay.” Credence nodded. He hadn’t felt the need to do it in a while, but he knew how to sneak around.

Miss Queenie took his hand.

Credence had to admit, he did feel a little nervous as they stepped into the building. He didn’t want his friends to get in trouble, and he certainly didn’t want to a cranky old lady to come out and start yelling at him. But Miss Queenie’s warm hand held onto his, and she smiled kindly at him all the while they were heading up the stairs, and then before he knew it they were inside the apartment.

Miss Tina’s apartment was very much like Abel’s: small, and cluttered, but cozy. As they entered, Miss Tina threw her hat onto the sofa right next to the door, and Credence did the same.

“I do wish you would use the hatstand,” Miss Queenie muttered teasingly, grinning at her sister. She took off her own hat, and pointedly set it on the stand. She threw her purse onto the sofa.

Miss Tina chuckled.

Credence looked around. The apartment was very small, and it appeared to host only two rooms; a front room that was both a dining and living area as well as a kitchen, and a pocket door split the middle to provide space for a bedroom. Though simply decorated, the apartment’s contents appeared to be both a mix of the vintage and the modern, seeming to reflect the sisters’ different tastes. The room was warm, but not suffocating, and Credence breathed in deeply, smiling at the mingled aroma of perfume, sharp ink and baked goods.

Miss Tina grinned at him, returning her hand to his shoulder. “Welcome to our home,” she said warmly. “So… what do you think?”

Credence grinned back at her. “I love it.”

Miss Queenie smiled as well, stepping past them into the kitchen area. She reached into her jacket and pulled out a long black stick – her wand. She waved it at her very self, and then her jacket was slipping off her shoulders of its own accord. It floated past them to sling itself on the hatstand; meanwhile, an apron slipped off the oven door to tie itself around Miss Queenie’s slim waist.

She looked over her shoulder to grin at Credence, who smiled back shyly. He had to admit it was a little overwhelming to find himself suddenly thrust back into this magical world, after so long cooped up in Abel’s apartment. And the last time he’d spent with magical folk such as Miss Tina and her sister, it had been those very magical folk who’d been trying to kill him.

But he trusted Miss Tina, he thought then. He liked her. And even though he hadn’t known Miss Queenie for very long, she seemed sweet and good-natured. He decided he liked her too.

It didn’t take long for Miss Queenie to prepare their meal, but while she was cooking, Miss Tina gave Credence a quick tour of the apartment. It was easier to get around than it was in Abel’s apartment, seeing as only two people lived here, and it wasn’t quite as cluttered. Looking around, Credence thought that the apartment actually seemed a little bigger than the one he lived in, but perhaps that was because it was so tidy. There seemed to be a lot more floor space, a lot more room to walk around. Perhaps it was enchanted, he thought then, so that the sisters could always move around comfortably.

Miss Tina and Miss Queenie appeared to share a bedroom, much like Sara and Beatrice did. Miss Tina’s side of the room held a little bed with a blue and green spread, a little bookshelf, and a wooden chair over which she’d thrown a pile of clothes. Miss Queenie’s bed had pink sheets, and over it she’d left a pink slip and a stack of fashion magazines. Looking around the apartment, Credence could already tell that Miss Queenie seemed to be a very modern trendy young woman, while Miss Tina seemed to reserve a taste for the days gone by.

He smiled at Miss Tina, who was still standing beside him, her arm around his shoulder. He was glad she’d brought him here. He was glad he had the chance to get to know her better. He really liked her.

Miss Tina smiled back at him. He put his head on her shoulder.

Lunch turned out to be a large baked ham served with peas, carrots and potatoes. Miss Queenie cut him several big slices, insisting fussily that “you’re too skinny honey, you need to be positively fattened up!”, and piled up his plate with potatoes and sliced bread.

After so many weeks of eating kosher foods with his new friends, it felt a little strange to eat the ham Miss Queenie served him, along with slices of buttered bread in the very same meal! Beatrice had told him before that it was another Jewish custom not to eat both meat and dairy products at the one time. A stricter custom was to cook the different foods in completely separate kitchens, but the three friends had decided they could just make do with two sets of utensils and plates: red for meaty dishes, and blue for everything else.

Credence didn’t know what Miss Queenie had put in the ham, but it was undeniably the juiciest, most tender meat he’d ever eaten in his life. He thought back to the pumpkin soup and eintopf stew he’d had for dinner the previous night, the very same dishes Beatrice had told him she’d cooked, and remembered how he’d thought there must be some magic involved to make them taste so good. If there had been magic in that, it must certainly be present now, he thought, for this ham was unlike anything else he’d ever tasted.

Miss Queenie giggled, reaching over her plate to playfully touch his arm. “Oh, you’re sweet, honey.”

“What?” Miss Tina raised her brows.

Miss Queenie giggled again. “Oh, the little darling’s just thinking about how much he loves my cooking.” She beamed, looking very pleased. Credence found himself thinking again about how beautiful her smile was.

"Oh, and you had my stew last night!” Miss Queenie turned back to him, looking excited. “And the soup I made for Bea! And you really liked them? Oh that’s wonderful! It was my first time making eintopf, you know.” She leaned closer to him, still grinning. “I was so nervous about giving it to Bea. I’m so glad you all liked it.”

Credence smiled shyly. He still didn’t really know how to feel about her reading his mind, but he didn’t know what to say about it without coming off as rude. But then he remembered what Miss Tina had said, that he could speak up whenever he felt uncomfortable, and he felt braver.

“Miss Queenie…” he began softly, and then stopped, feeling nervous.

But then Miss Queenie took his hand, and smiled at him, and Credence knew somehow that she wasn’t going to get angry.

“Miss Queenie,” he said again, and cleared his throat. “Would you mind, not reading my mind?”

“Of course not, honey,” Miss Queenie replied immediately, giving his hand a squeeze. Credence was a little surprised at how calmly she’d reacted, but of course he was relieved that she hadn’t gotten mad.

“I don’t mind at all,” she continued, squeezing his hand a little tighter. Her hand was very soft. “I’m sorry, I let it out of my control a little, I think. I didn’t upset you, did I?” She sounded genuinely concerned.

“No, no,” Credence waved his hand. “No, I’m fine. Thank you.”

Miss Tina glanced between them, and reached out to take Credence’s free hand.

“We want you to feel safe, Credence,” Miss Tina said, and Miss Queenie nodded in agreement.

“We want you to feel safe with us.”

Credence looked down at her hand, tightly clasping his own. Miss Tina’s hand was warm and callused, and he could feel the magic thrumming at her fingertips, sending little sparks shooting up his arm. Her hand held his like a vice, like she never intended to let go. Credence didn’t want her to let go.

“I always feel safe when I’m with you,” Credence said softly, repeating his earlier statement. “I like you, both of you. I like you a lot.”

Miss Queenie beamed.

“We like you too, honey.”

Credence smiled at her, no longer feeling quite so nervous, and she immediately smiled back.

*

For dessert, Miss Queenie had prepared a peach and syrup pie, served with scoops of homemade vanilla ice cream. It was, of course, absolutely delicious, and although Credence was feeling a bit full he couldn’t help but accept a second slice when Miss Queenie offered it to him.

Miss Tina scooted her chair closer to him, and kept her arm around his shoulder the whole time they were eating. And even when they finished eating, and when Miss Queenie rose from the table to begin washing up, they stayed where they were, and Miss Tina kept her arm around him.

He relaxed against her, tucking his head into the crook of her shoulder. She ran her hand through his hair.

“How are you feeling?” She asked him, her voice soft.

Credence thought about it, and then lifted his head to smile at her. “Happy,” he said in reply. “I feel happy.”

Miss Tina beamed at him; she touched his cheek. “I’m glad.”

She tucked both arms around him then, bringing him in to hold him close. He immediately returned the embrace, realizing then that he was genuinely happy. He had a home now, with good food and friends who loved him. He had a family. After all this time, he had a family, and that was all he’d ever wanted.

Credence felt then like he was going to cry, and just as he was feeling this he felt Miss Queenie’s hand on his back, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. She’d said she wasn’t going to read his mind, so perhaps she could sense emotions as well as thoughts? Credence decided then that he didn’t mind if she could.

Miss Tina’s arms tightened around him, and he realized then that he really was crying. He could feel his already tears soaking his friend’s lovely jacket, and he opened his mouth to apologize, but then Miss Tina’s lips were on his forehead, and her soft voice was whispering soothing words, and then he couldn’t speak. Her hand touched his cheek, thumb brushing away his tears, and Miss Queenie’s hand was rubbing soothing circles over his back, and he felt frozen, but even if he could move he knew he wouldn’t want to.

The two sisters kept touching him, Miss Tina whispering kind words and Miss Queenie singing gently, much in the way that Beatrice often hummed to Sara to calm her down. Miss Tina’s arms firmly locked themselves back around Credence’s waist, holding him close, and Credence wanted to thank her but he couldn’t speak.

All he could do was hold her in return, and all he could feel then was the sudden epiphany that he was finally safe, that he’d finally found happiness, at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thnks-fr-th-feels on Tumblr!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So SO SORRY for the long wait guys! Hope you enjoy the chapter! :D

Beatrice had her own set of keys to the house.

The building was of an old-fashioned design, painted white, but not blindingly so. The locks, however, were modern, charmed so that nothing but the correct keys could open them. When Beatrice visited her friend, she kept the keys in her pocket. Otherwise, they remained in her locked drawer, charmed so that only she could open it. When the Goldstein’s arrived for their shift, Beatrice let them in herself, and then she took the keys with her when she left.

It had been decided at the start that her friend would have two minders. Beatrice had been the first choice, seeing as she was his closest and most trusted friend, but for the days she couldn’t take care of him it was Tina that was next picked. Tina wasn’t as close with him as Beatrice was, but he trusted her. They had… history.

Nevertheless, there was only one set of keys to the house. Under her friend’s insistence Beatrice was the only one who could carry them, and she was the only one who knew where they were.

Beatrice stepped into the house quietly. If he was indeed asleep, as Queenie had told her, she didn’t want to disturb him. He didn’t get enough sleep as it was.

But as she shrugged out of her jacket, and placed both that and her hat on the rack by the door, she hummed a little tune. She kept humming as she walked down the hallway, and as she began to ascend the staircase, flicking on the lights as she went. If he actually happened to be awake, it was better for her to announce her arrival, even before she walked into the room.

The song she was humming was an old German lullaby, composed by none other than the late, great, Johannes Brahms. Beatrice’s mother had often sung it to her as a child, and it was the very same one that Beatrice also often hummed to Sara.

The bedroom door was ajar. She knocked twice, and then pushed it open, stepping briskly into the room. She closed the door behind her.

“Good morning, Percy.”

Percival Graves was not asleep, as Queenie had told her. He wasn’t in bed at all, but seated in a chair by the window, facing away from her. Beatrice had to stop at the familiar image, take a moment to clear her throat, remind herself that he was no longer trapped in that dreaded box but alive and healthy and safe, that the bastard who had taken him from her could hurt him no longer.

Not while she was still alive.

He didn’t look at her as she came in, didn’t even appear to acknowledge she was in the room. The heavier curtains were drawn back, allowing light to flood into the room, but the lace curtains were drawn shut, obscuring his image from any passers-by but still allowing him to look outside.

She stepped forward, still humming. She slipped her bag off her shoulder and tossed it onto the bed, and then it was only a few more steps until she’d joined Percival by his side. He kept his gaze firmly locked on the outside world, but Beatrice could see the way his shoulders tensed as she stepped closer. She suppressed a sigh.

“Blueberry,” she said instead, softly but clearly. It was her password for him, another security measure he’d adopted. The Goldstein’s each had a different one, and the only person who knew all three was Percival.

Percival still didn’t look at her, but he nodded in response. “Good morning Beatrice.”

Beatrice smiled then. “Good morning,” she said again.

There was another chair already placed opposite him, so Beatrice sat down. She put her hands in her lap.

“You’re avake,” she smiled, though perhaps a little awkwardly. “Qveenie told me you’d been sleeping all morning.”

Percival hummed, his lip twitching. “I’d only been pretending, so she wouldn’t fuss over me so much. She’s a sweet girl, but… she can be a real armful, that one.”

Beatrice chuckled.

“May I touch you?” She asked gently.

Percival’s jaw tightened, and he frowned deeply. For a moment she found herself regretting the question, but then-

“Okay.”

She managed a smile, before reaching out to touch his hand. “Thank you, Percy.”

He grunted in reply.

“Who was that young man?” He asked idly, still not meeting her gaze. “The one you were with. Was he a friend of yours?”

His tone made it sound as though he didn’t care much about her answer, and he didn’t seem suspicious but merely curious. Still, Beatrice knew he would want more than a name.

“A little bit, yes.” Beatrice smiled. “His name’s Oscar, and he’s a friend of Abel. He’s staying vit us in our apartment. He’s usually alone most ov the time, because ve all have verk, so I asked the Goldstein’s to take care ov him for the day.”

“Aw, you should’ve asked him in,” Percival turned to her then, finally, a rakish smile tugging on his lips. “He looked rather attractive.”

Beatrice hummed, admittedly amused. “Vell, unfortunately you’re too late, Percy. Abel is already rather infatuated vit him.”

Percival grunted. “Of course.”

“And so is he vit Abel,” she added teasingly, “though he doesn’t seem to realize it qvite yet…”

Percival’s lips twitched. “Ah, to be young and in love…”

Beatrice chuckled. She put her hand on his knee.

He was dressed in a grey, white, and crimson striped nightrobe, over a pair of matching crimson pyjamas. The fabric was very soft under her palm.

“How are you feeling?” She asked kindly. “How voz yesterday? I apologize I couldn’t stay vit you the whole day.”

“No, it’s fine,” Percival waved her off. “You had your family to get back to, I understand. How are they, by the way?”

Beatrice sighed. “Sara still isn’t speaking, unfortunately.”

Percival gave her a sympathetic look. He put his hand over hers.

“But… she zeems happier, I think,” Beatrice continued thoughtfully. “Before Oscar came to the apartment, she voz usually alone herself, because she starts verk later than us. She likes him, I know, and it’s good for her to have a friend.”

Percival hummed.

“It’d be good for you to have a friend too, you know,” Beatrice added, cocking her brow at him. “Somevun who can be here all the time. I can’t be here all the time, and neither can the Goldstein’s.”

Percival sighed. “I know, Bea, but…” He sighed again. “You know I’m not ready for that sort of thing…”

“I know,” Beatrice gave his hand a squeeze. “I know, I’m zorry.”

“I miss him,” Percival said quietly.

Beatrice squeezed his hand again.

“I know you do.”

She took his hand in both of hers, running her thumb over his. She smiled comfortingly when he looked back up at her, maintaining appropriate eye contact.

She, like Abel, was quite a fair liar.

“Vood you like zum breakfast?” She asked then, offering him another smile. “Qveenie already set out zumthing for you to eat.”

Percival hummed, looking for a moment like he was debating his answer, before finally murmuring a quiet, “okay.”

She smiled at him, tightening her hand just slightly around his. “Okay.”

She patted his knee, before standing up. As they were still holding hands, he stood up too. He handed her satchel, and she slung it over her shoulder, and then they left the room.

Beatrice walked slightly ahead of Percival, as they began to make their way down the hallway. As they approached the stairwell, even though every light was turned on, Beatrice heard Percival’s breath catch just slightly, and his hand tightened around hers.

She suppressed another sigh.

It had been hard, at first, to lie him so blatantly like that. Before his disappearance, Beatrice knew he had been affiliated with the Barebone boy. She was Percival’s most trusted friend and confidante, and she alone had known of their friendship. She hadn’t known, however, how strongly Percival had felt about the boy, how all that time he had been seeking not only male companionship, but a partner as well.

It was so surprising, to find the very same boy in their apartment, looking malnourished and frightened but very much alive. Beatrice, like everyone else who’d been in the subway that day, had presumed him dead, seeing as the Obscurus that had been inside him could not survive long without its host.

Tina hadn’t known of their relationship, but when she approached Beatrice mere hours later, in hysterics, unable to believe that her friend had murdered a child, Beatrice now carried two burdens over her shoulder: she’d murdered a child, and not only that but she’d murdered the very child Percival had become so close with.

And Percival was missing. Her friend was missing, and she’d killed his friend. If they ever found him, if he was still alive, how was she going to tell him without losing his trust, his friendship? How could he ever forgive her?

But then Abel had found him. He’d found Credence Barebone, alive, and he’d brought him back to the apartment. And perhaps that would have made things easier, loosened the weight from her shoulders, had Abel not fallen in love with the boy, and had the boy not begun to fall in love with Abel in return.

Beatrice continued to walk ahead of Percival when they reached the ground floor, turning on the lights and opening the curtains with a wave of her hand. In the kitchen, they were both pleased to find not one, but two steaming plates of food waiting for them on the countertop: for Percival, flapjacks, eggs, fried vegetables, and bacon; and for Beatrice, flapjacks, eggs, fried vegetables, and small sausages (they knew whose was whose because Queenie had set a little name card beside each plate).

On a silver tray, Queenie had also set out glasses of orange juice, a little pot of honey, a glass dish of fruit, cutlery, and everything they needed to make coffee.

Beatrice generally skipped breakfast most days, usually making do with a few cups of coffee, and a pastrami sandwich from the delicatessen, if she had time. It upset her stomach if she ate something too rich too early in the morning, and more often than not she found herself waving away Sara’s eggs and toast in favour of one of Cass’s salads once she arrived at work.

All Cassandra Porter really knew how to make was salad, and that was fine, because more often than not they were delicious, but if she ever walked into the office one morning with one of those god-awful salad jellies in her hands, Beatrice felt she would have to put her foot down.

But Queenie Goldstein’s cooking, good lord… Beatrice was no Christian, but even she knew it would be an absolute sin to refuse. It was already mid-morning anyway, so her stomach wouldn’t complain.

Percival stepped forward and took up the plates, one in each hand. Beatrice picked up the tray.

“Vy don’t ve sit outside?” She suggested, smiling at him. “It’s qvite vorm this morning.”

Percival nodded, and smiled back at her. “Alright.”

With a wave of her hand, the doors to the backyard flew open, and they stepped out onto the patio.

It was indeed a fine morning: sunny and warm, with a gentle, honey-scented breeze drifting around them. A glass table and two chairs were already set out at one end of the patio, but Percival rather preferred to sit out in the sunshine, so with another wave of Beatrice’s hand, the furniture floated up to follow them into the garden.

Percival wobbled a bit on the steps, but he was fine once they’d reached the cobblestone path, so Beatrice didn’t try to take his arm.

They decided to sit in a far corner of the garden, just by the daisies. They both sat down as soon as the furniture joined them, and while Beatrice set about preparing his cup of coffee, Percival reached over to pick one, and tucked it into her curly hair.

She smiled, and picked a daisy herself, to tuck behind his ear.

He smiled too, and she grinned at him. It was good to see him smiling, even if it was all for just for show.

Percival generally preferred his coffee black, but he was still just a little too thin for Beatrice’s liking, so she poured in quite a bit of milk, as well as a stubborn dollop of cream when he raised his eyebrows at her.

He raised his eyebrows even further when she insisted on adding a spoonful of sugar, but nevertheless accepted the cup when she finally handed it to him. He took a sip and grimaced, but obediently kept drinking. When it came to Beatrice, he knew better than to complain. He could make his own cup of coffee later, anyway.

He watched as his friend began to prepare her own cup. She, like Percival, generally preferred her coffee black, but she also added cream and sugar to her drink, possibly so he wouldn’t feel as though she were mocking him. Percival honestly didn’t give much of a damn about that – she could do what she liked. Anyway, he knew the real reason why she’d made his drink so rich, even if she was too proud to admit it herself. Pretty much everything she did inside this house, and a good deal of what she did outside of it, was for his own benefit, whether she was actually aware that or not.

Beatrice realized Percival was watching her.

“Vot iz it?” She asked. “Iz zumthing wrong?”

“Hmm? No, no…” Percival’s gaze lowered down to the spoon in her hand, still stirring away at her drink. “You know, you could just use magic to do all that.”

“I know.” Beatrice gave the drink one last stir, before setting down her spoon. “And you know perfectly vell vy I don’t. Bezides,” Beatrice took a sip and grimaced also, “every time I do use magic, you zit there looking like a kicked dog.”

Percival swallowed; he looked down. Beatrice could have hexed herself.

She tutted in annoyance, regretting her mindless statement, and she reached over the little table to touch his hand. He didn’t look at her.

“I apologize, Percy,” she said gently. “I didn’t mean to zound insincere.”

He glanced up at her, looking very much indeed like a kicked dog, and Beatrice sighed. She took his hand fully, gave it a little squeeze. Thankfully, Percival squeezed back.

“It’s… it’s fine,” he eventually said, sighing himself. He leaned back in his chair, his hand slipping from hers. Beatrice didn’t try to take it again.

“It’s fine, he said again, and he offered her a small smile. “Really.”

He held out his cup. “Could I have another?”

Beatrice couldn’t help it – she laughed. “Finished already? I’ve barely made mine!”

He shrugged, offering her a half-grin.

She tutted in mock disapproval, but she took the cup, and set about making more coffee, murmuring a quick spell under her breath to keep her own drink hot.

It was true, that she preferred not to use magic all that often. At least, she preferred not to use it for absolutely everything she did, the way her fellow Aurors did. No, Beatrice liked to think of herself as an exceeding practical, organized woman, ready for whatever life had to throw her way, and she had decided from a very early age that if she were to one day wake up to find her magic weakened, or even if she were to be stripped of it entirely, then she most certainly would rather find herself still capable of carrying out the most menial of tasks, such as collecting her mail, or preparing a cup of coffee, or even resorting to fists, rather than her wand, when it came to fighting an enemy.

Which is exactly what she’d done to Gellert Grindelwald.

Beatrice had never been able to find words to describe how she’d felt when, that night in the subway, the face of her most trusted friend and confidante melted away to reveal the twisted, smirking face of Gellert Grindelwald.

She’d sensed Percival had been… off, the past several weeks. He’d seemed distracted constantly, even a bit dazed, not to mention the fact that he no longer stopped by her quarters for friendly chat anymore. All this she’d managed to shrug off, thinking perhaps that it was all due to the stress of Grindelwald’s escape taking its toll on him. What really had her concerned was how carefree he seemed all of a sudden, both with the Aurors and most of his staff.

Now Grindelwald had escaped from his prison, Beatrice would’ve expected him to be focused and on edge, living solely off of black coffee and sleeping in his office, barking orders left and right, practically drowning in his paperwork until Beatrice had to drag him by his ear back to his apartment to get a good night’s sleep.

But… those days, Percival had seemed not to care about their current situation. He’d still done the work, still instructed his staff, but… his heart hadn’t really seemed to be in it anymore, and his mind often appeared to be elsewhere.

Never would Beatrice have guessed that it wasn’t her dear friend at all, but rather the very dark wizard they’d been trying to find.

Which, of course, had then raised the real question.

Where was the real Percival Graves?

* * * * * *  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

_Even before President Picquery had issued the command, Beatrice was stepping forward to apprehend the bastard, James O’Flaherty at her side. It disgusted her to touch him, the discomforting chill of his skin ever-present even through the many layers of his clothes – Percival’s clothes!_

_But she had to be the one to talk him first, had to find out for herself exactly what he’d done with her oldest and dearest friend, so she swallowed down the bad taste in her mouth, gripped his arm even firmer, and soon she and James had him locked in a holding cell back at MACUSA._

_It surprised her to find how compliantly he was; even as they (mainly she) harshly led him through the halls of MACUSA, he put up no struggle, made no complaint even when Beatrice’s pointed nails began to dig into his arm, not even when they reached the cell and she immediately locked him into a pair of iron shackles, perhaps a bit tighter than what was necessary._

_James entered the cell behind her, standing guard at the door. Outside the cell, three more officials soon arrived to observe the scene. Beatrice took a seat at the table, trying to ignore the way that his snake-like eyes seemed to bore into her very soul, and began to question him quietly._

_Usually, Beatrice preferred to take notes manually, but she decided then that it was best just to charm her quill to take the notes for her. She didn’t want a miss a word of what Grindelwald had to say, if indeed he did agree to speak with her._

_Which he did. Vigorously._

_He appeared to be quite comfortable in her presence, regardless of the way she had gripped his arm like an eagle grips their prey; he was polite, and friendly, he even cracked a joke every now and then, but of course she knew better than to let her guard down. Grindelwald was nothing if not a very measured, calculated man – he had to be, to have conducted such a plan as he did. No doubt the gears and pulleys of his brain were whirring away at that very moment._

_She had to admit, however, she was far more than a little relieved to discover that_ _Grindelwald had been holding them all under… a sort of telekinetic spell, quite similar to the Imperius curse, from the very beginning. It made carrying out his work so much easier in the long run, as he’d told her, what with how easily they bent to his will. However, now that he’d been discovered and arrested, he agreed that it was no longer necessary to keep them under such a state. It wouldn’t be any fun, anyhow, if he had no one around to control._

_With a wave of his hand, Beatrice felt a sort of haze leave her mind, as though it were the sun finally peeking out from behind the clouds, and she exhaled deeply, now struggling to contain an immediate rage that had surfaced within her the moment he broke the spell._

_It was easy, now that she could think for herself, to tell just how obvious it was that he was not indeed Percival Graves. Grindelwald was too lazy, too comical, too overtly dramatic in situations where Percival would remain solemn. Then, she’d been susceptible to his cruel control – she thought exactly what he wanted her to think, but now that she could think for herself again, it was indeed painfully obvious that it had not been Percival at all, but the wicked trickster seated before her._

_And it was infuriating to discover just how many spies he had littered around MACUSA, just how many of their staff had been willing to help carry out his dastardly plan, especially considering the fact that he blatantly refused to name a single one of the traitors._

_“I may be, as you have so very eloquently been kind enough to let me know, a villainous bastard,” he chuckled, offering her a sly grin, “but above all that I am loyal to the core.”_

_Beatrice scoffed._

_Grindelwald smiled, leaning forward in his seat. Beatrice stayed still. “You know, you’re quite an attractive woman, Miss Kramer.”_

_Beatrice scoffed again, and cocked a brow at him. “Really?”_

_“Yes, really,” Grindelwald said genuinely, not seeming at all put off by her blatant sarcasm. “In fact, I’d say you’re very attractive. Strong-willed, resilient, focused – all very attractive qualities, as well as the fact that you intend to stay in here with me for quite a while, even though it is painfully clear that I sicken you to your very core.”_

_Beatrice blinked once. “You are qvite right in dat azzumption.”_

_Grindelwald laughed. “Ah, you are amusing as well, Miss Kramer, and very capable might I add, able to focus on what’s important even when your mind tells you otherwise. That is a very good quality to have, you know – such dedication. I know you want to leave, all you want to do is run from this from, but you stay, because you know I am the only one who can tell you where to find your beloved Percival Graves.”_

_Beatrice kept her body still, kept her face straight, kept her eyes trained on the man seated before her._

_“Und vot do you haff to zay about dat?” She asked smoothly, resting her hands on the table. She always found that her accent became more pronounced when she felt herself growing angry, as she was now, but she kept her voice still and prayed Grindelwald wouldn’t notice. She didn’t want him to get distracted, didn’t want him to stop talking, not when she so suddenly had the chance to find her friend._

_“About Percival?” Grindelwald smirked. “Ah, well, he’s honestly been lovely to have around. He’s been quite a wonderful companion. Very, very, very wonderful indeed…”_

_The sleazy tone of his voice, the implications of such a statement; it was all Beatrice could do to keep from flying from her chair and seizing him by the throat right then and there. But she kept still, kept her true emotions perfectly hidden, only the slightest twitch in her jaw letting Grindelwald know that his words had affected her at all._

_Grindelwald grunted. His brow twitched. He was used to submission, to people cowering before him, and she could tell her own stoic behaviour was irritating him, whether he liked it or not._

_She resisted the desire to smirk herself._

_Soon enough, Grindewald managed another courteous smile, and when he spoke again it was with his usual charm._

_“You appear stoic, as well,” he said thoughtfully, “My previous statement has upset you, angered you, but you are hiding it well. You are an Auror, are you not? You seem a perfect candidate for undercover work. You almost had me fooled, but I can tell you are not as cold as you may seem. I am analyzing you, I hope you understand, just as I know you are currently analyzing me.”_

_Beatrice cocked her brow. “I am more den perfectly avare ov dat, Mr Grindelvald.”_

_Grindelwald laughed. “Ah, and a sharp tongue to add to it all. You know, it’s quite a shame you aren’t a man, Miss Kramer. I like you. Perhaps we could have had some fun together.”_

_Beatrice heard James inhale sharply behind her, and without turning to look she could already picture the rage most definitely written across his face. Nevertheless, she kept her eyes on Grindelwald, and even cracked a smile of her own._

_“Yes, I zuppoze dat vood be an issue,” she said casually. ”Not to mention the fact dat I vood rather zet myself on fire den let you lay vun finger on me.”_

_Again, without having to turn to look, Beatrice could tell James was now grinning at her. She suppressed a smile of her own._

_She leaned forward in her seat, her face a mask of stone, and for the first time Grindelwald appeared just the slightest bit uncomfortable; for the first time since entering the room, he seemed to be realizing she meant business._

_“Now, if ve could get right back on track,” Beatrice smiled at him, her tone strictly professional, “vitout any further ado, I vood much prefer if you let me know the precise location ov our Director Graves.”_

_She turned to James for the first time since entering the room. They shared a small nod, before she turned back to Grindelwald, still speaking. “You zee, Mr Grindelvald, Director Graves iz a very trusted und valued member ov dis association, und if you haff indeed kidnapped him und hidden him avay, ve vould all very much love to haff him back. You’re un intelligent man, I’m zure you can understand.”_

_“That I do, Miss Kramer,” Grindelwald replied smoothly. “I understand perfectly well, and I do sympathize with your situation. Again, you are very good at hiding it, but I can tell quite easily how fond you are of your beloved Director.”_

_There was a sudden malice to his voice now, a sudden sharp edge that hadn’t been present before._

_“Oh you do, do you?” Beatrice asked haughtily. It was a common tactic, one that she often used during interrogations – test a villain’s intelligence, his capability, and more often than not, eventually, his pride would take over and he could spill something valuable. It was up to her to keep feeding the flame, making enquiries or encouragements when necessary, all the while figuring out how to get him to lose his carefully-put together control. But of course, she had to be careful. As Grindelwald had said, like she was analyzing him, so was he analyzing her, and she didn’t want him catching on to her plan. She had to remain subtle, speak calmly but still appear just the least bit desperate. Grindelwald was a very cunning man, he had to be, and no doubt would he be unwilling to relinquish the truth so easily. She had let him believe he was in control._

_And so it didn’t surprise her when he replied: “Yes, I believe I do now. All those subtle glasses thrown my way, some not so subtle than others, I’m afraid–“_

_Beatrice scoffed._

_“I thought you were just another silly girl with a silly crush, not necessarily worth my time,” Grindelwald concluded. “But you, my dear, you are intelligent, and amusing, and capable, and far more pleasant to talk to than any of those feet-kissing buffoons down at the Junior department, particularly that rat-faced Abernathy…” Grindelwald trailed off for a moment; by his casual tone, he seemed to forgotten he was speaking to an enemy official and not merely chatting with a close friend._

_“No, you, my dear, are the ticket!” He quickly continued, offering her a dazzling smile that she did not return. “And on top of all that, you are indeed fond of Percy, are you not?” He winked at her. “What are you, friends? Lovers? Partners in crime?” He waggled his eyebrows._

_Beatrice cleared her throat, ignoring James’ irritated grunt. “His name iz Percival Graves, Director Graves to you, thank you very much,” she said curtly. “Und yes, ve are friends. Ve’ve been friends a very long time.”_

_She noted, of course, the way that Grindelwald had been speaking of her friend in the present tense. She bit back a smile, knowing it could be disastrous to let her excitement show._

_Grindelwald sighed. “Ah, if only I’d known. You see, Miss Kramer, your dear Percival is honestly far too skilled in Occlumency for my liking. All I could really find out about him was the sheer amount of curse words he knew!”_

_He chuckled. Beatrice, deciding it was appropriate, gave him a little hum._

_“He was like you; he had a very sharp tongue, even nasty, actually, I’d say. Luckily, I managed to put it to some good use, while I still could.”_

_Beatrice felt a sinking feeling in her chest, as though a hole had opened up somewhere inside of her. Again, what the bastard was implying, she knew without a doubt it had to be the same, horrible act that Sara, her dearest Sara, had herself been subject. Such an act had stolen her pride, her voice, and now this… this vile being was sitting here, bragging about performing it himself, and on her friend no less. And she wanted to strike him across the face, she wanted to throttle him until he turned purple, hell, she wanted to skin him alive and mount his head on a pike! But she remained calm, kept her hands still, her face straight. There was a time and place for violence, and now was certainly not it._

_After they found Percival… well…_

_Grindelwald grunted again, clearly still irritated that his words weren’t visibly affecting her. Nevertheless, she could also tell that he was enjoying himself greatly._

_‘All that aside, however, I can honestly say he really has been a wonderful companion.” Grindelwald’s eyes twinkled. “And you’re his friend…”_

_He sighed in mock disappointment. “You know, it really is a shame you aren’t a man, Miss Kramer. We could’ve had so, so much fun together. “_

_James cleared his throat. Beatrice ignored him._

_“Vell, az I haff previously mentioned, I vood zooner zet myzelf on fire den haff dat brought about.”_

_Grindelwald laughed. He leaned forward in his seat, steepling his fingers on the table._

_“Ah, you are funny, Miss Kramer,” he smiled at her. “And as I have previously mentioned, I really do like you. Tell me, how would you consider joining my forces?”_

_Beatrice almost choked, completely and utterly taken aback. Behind her, she heard James cough in surprise._

_“You see, while I truly appreciate all those willing to help me,” Grindelwald continued, “it honestly gets so tiresome having to single-handedly instruct them all, so many of them barely even know how to tie their own boots. Having you around would really make things so much more… fun.”_

_Beatrice scoffed. She raised her brows incredulously, still unable to tell whether or not he was actually being serious, but then she offered him a smile._

_“Vell, vile your offer iz certainly qvite tempting, Mr Grindevald…”_

_She leaned conspiratorially forward in her seat. He smirked and copied the action; she was so close to him now that their noses almost touched. She could feel his breath on her face, and it repulsed her, but she remained still, and when she spoke again it was only just loud enough for him to hear._

_“I vood rather spend da rest ov eternity rotting in votever dark und torturous pit you haff undoubtedly hidden avay my friend, den vaste a zingle, zolitary moment ov my time by your zide.”_

_She sat back down, suddenly feeling breathless._

_Grindelwald’s lips twitched; his eyes twinkled. “Dark? Torturous? Oh no, my dear, I can assure you, your darling Percy is currently residing in only the utmost comfort known to man.”_

_Beatrice cocked her brow. “Und verr iz dat, exactly?”_

_Grindelwald tutted. “Nuh uh ah, Miss Kramer. I don’t want you running off just yet. I’m really quite enjoying our current conversation.”_

_Beatrice blinked once, twice. She licked her lips. Time was running out, surely, and her patience was beginning to wear thin – she just wanted to find her friend. The bastard had told her he understood her urgency, and yet here he was prancing around the issue like a lawyer in court!_

_James cleared his throat again. Beatrice ignored him again._

_Grindelwald regarded her for several moments, his eyes boring into hers, and when he spoke next, his voice suddenly had a gentleness about it, a sort of sincerity that hadn’t been there before._

_“You really want to find him, don’t you?”_

_Beatrice lowered her gaze, and cleared her throat before replying. “Yes, Mr Grindelvald. Yes I do.”_

_“How close, exactly, are you two?”_

_Beatrice cleared her throat again. “Very, I’d say. Ve’ve been friends a very long time, almost ten years.”_

_“Ten years?” Grindelwald raised his brows. “My, that is impressive, Miss Kramer.”_

_Beatrice hummed._

_Grindelwald tutted. Well, it’d be a sin to break up such a bond. Friendship is, by far, the purest form of love known to man, as I always say.”_

_Before she could stop herself, Beatrice found herself nodding. She had to admit, she agreed with that wholeheartedly._

_Grindelwald smiled. “Tell you what, Miss Kramer, I’ll tell you the location of your beloved Director, if, you come and see me again.”_

_Beatrice blinked, again genuinely taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”_

_“Well, you see Miss Kramer, as your friend by the door has been trying to let you know for the past few minutes, it appears as though the president herself is standing right outside the door, anxiously awaiting to speak with me.”_

_Beatrice turned to look; through the slot in the door, she could see that Madam Picquery was indeed standing outside the cell, looking rather impatient._

_“And if I’m not mistaken,” Grindelwald continued, a smug tone to his voice that Beatrice did not at all appreciate, “it would be quite rude to keep her waiting for too long, wouldn’t you agree?”_

_Beatrice sighed. “Yes, I zuppose I do,” she replied, already standing up. She didn’t try to argue; somehow, she already knew that he would answer no more of her questions._

_“Let her in, James,” she murmured. “I’ve had qvite enough.”_

_She turned back to the bastard in the chair, still regarding her with a sort of sly curiousity._

_“Until next time, Miss Kramer?” He asked, the corner of his lip twitching. He already knew her answer._

_“Until nixt time, Mr Grindelvald,” she confirmed._

_*_

_As it turned out, it was not indeed “next time” but several weeks after that, that he finally revealed Percival’s location._

_“If you look closely, you will most certainly find that Percival Graves currently resides in his very office, and has been this entire–“_

_He had to stop then; Beatrice was already running out the door._

_James and Cassandra at her side, the three of them headed up to Percival’s office, previously untouched due to the possibility of a spy hiding away crucial information. Indeed, two of their fellow Aurors had already been stripped of their authority after it was proved they were in Grindelwald’s league._

_The three of them began to scour the room from top to bottom, and it wasn’t long before Cassandra discovered the black case on Percival’s desk simply refused to open. Beatrice and James tried every spell under the sun while she searched for a key; Beatrice did her best to pick the lock while her friends watched in fascination; James wedged a bar into the slot and they all did their best to force it open; all to no avail. Finally, they decided to return to Grindelwald’s cell. If anyone knew how to open the case, it was him._

_There was just one problem._

_He wasn’t there._

_The three friends all felt the same kind of sinking feeling in their chests, especially so when they looked around and realized there were no guards to speak of either. Beatrice could only stare at the empty cell, unable to believe her eyes._

_James, sensing Beatrice’s distress, suggested that perhaps Grindelwald had only been transferred to another cell while they’d been away. Cassandra, a quick thinker, immediately suggested that they run to alert President Picquery, if this was indeed an emergency. And even if it wasn’t, surely she would be the safest to ask of his current whereabouts?_

_Beatrice agreed; if there were indeed many more spies littering the offices, than the President would be the safest to ask._

_But as it turned out, they didn’t need to, for the President herself was already hurrying towards them, flanked one each side by the absent guards to Grindelwald’s cell._

_Long story short, it was an emergency._

_Grindelwald had disappeared._

_Again._

_*_

_And so a nation-wide man-hunt sprang forth, witches and wizard all over the country searching for the dark wizard. Meanwhile, the President conducted a private investigation to find all the supposed spies infiltrating their ranks. Queenie Goldstein, the most gifted Legilimens Beatrice had come across in a long while, was an immense help, not only being able to name individuals but their cohorts as well, and fairly soon Beatrice was up to her ears in investigations and interrogations, and her hair was falling out in clumps due to her distress, and all the while the rotten box was sitting on that desk unopened, but she found the strength to grit her teeth and push through it all. No matter how long it took, even if he was to be found dead, all she wanted was to find her friend. She wasn’t going to let Grindelwald win._

_And then, inexplicably, it was discovered several weeks after the whole fiasco started that Grindelwald had in fact been in his cell all along._

_He’d been invisible._

_It had been Tina Goldstein that found him._

_“How did you find him?” Beatrice asked her immediately, the moment Tina met her out in the foyer. Tina was rather tall, but Beatrice was much taller, and so Tina had to jog to keep with her as they hurried down to the cells._

_“Well, I came in a little early this morning, to get a read-up on the investigations record, and–“ she skipped around a discarded chair “–I noticed this young boy walk past the offices with a tray of food. I don’t think he saw I was there, but he seemed in a hurry, so I decided to follow him, and he led me right to Grindelwald’s cell.”_

_The approached the stairs and began to step down._

_“And then?” Beatrice glanced at her friend. “Vot happened?”_

_“Well, I couldn’t turn the corner to follow him, otherwise I’d be in plain view and he’d… probably run away, but I saw him handing food through the bars. After he was done, I waited until he returned to the first floor and arrested him.”_

_Beatrice patted her shoulder. “Vell done.”_

_Tina smiled. “I didn’t really have anywhere to put him, so I just decided to lock him in a cupboard, and then I headed back down.”_

_“By yourself?” Beatrice looked concernedly at her friend. “Tina, that voz very dangerous.”_

_Tina looked embarrassed. “I didn’t go into the cell by myself, or anything. I just wanted to make sure my hunch was correct. I had a bucket of paint, and when I couldn’t see anybody in there, I threw it all in, and most of it landed on a body.”_

_Beatrice’s froze; her eyes widened. “He… he’s been invisible?”_

_Tina nodded solemnly._

_Beatrice exhaled shakily, heat rushing through her body. She felt like she was going to explode. “Dis whole time, ve’ve been chazing our tails like dogs, und he’s been invisible?”_

_Tina nodded again._

_Beatrice was practically trembling in anger now, but she walked steadily, and as they rounded the corner to Grindelwald’s cell she felt her hands curl into fists._

_Several Aurors and other officials were already surrounding the cell, and James was with them. He immediately walked over to take her hand._

_“The President’s speaking ter ‘im now,” he murmured in his Irish drawl. “But ye can talk ter ‘im when she’s done, luv, alright?”_

_Beatrice was still shaking, but she closed her eyes and nodded. James squeezed her hand._

_Soon enough, the President was stepping out of the cell, looking thoroughly disgusted. She shot a glance Beatrice’s way, and gave her a quick nod._

_“He’s all yours, Kramer,” she said offhandedly. “He’s been wanting to speak with you since I arrived.”_

_Tina and Cassandra followed the President as she began to walk down the hallway, but thankfully James stayed, and she kept her hand in his as they walked into the cell._

_The cell was as blinding white as usual, save for the spatterings of blue paint covering a good portion of both the walls and ceiling, as well as the bastard seated the table._

_Beatrice sat down opposite him. James stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder._

_“Welcome back, Miss Kramer,” Grindelwald greeted her politely. “May I say, it is nothing short of wonderful to find myself once again in the pleasure of your company.”_

_Beatrice glared at him, her eyes practically burning with rage._

_“Am I correct in assuming you have found your Director?” He asked._

_Beatrice closed her eyes, exhaled deeply. James squeezed her shoulder._

_“Cut the bullshit, Grindelwald,” James snarled. “There’s a box in Graves’ office. Where’s the key?”_

_Grindelwald ignored him. “Miss Kramer? Are you feeling alright?”_

_He sounded genuinely concerned._

_Beatrice sighed. She lifted her hand to put it over her friend’s._

_“Mr Grindelvald,” she began, finally looking up to meet his eyes. “Mr Grindelvald, you have been causing chaos left und right ever zince you entered dis rotten city. You have had your spies infiltrate our offices und destroyed the trust betveen coworkers. You have sentenced innocent people to death. You have kidnapped und imperzonated my oldest und dearest friend, und have since then been making light ov our urgency to find him und bring him home. Ve know he iz in that box, you knew ve vould find out, und so you chose to disappear und have us running around on a vild-goose chase for almost a month! And yet now, even ven ve have found you again, und this very urgency has returned tricefold, you still continue to run around us like a human runs around a donkey with a carrot on a stick! Vy… vy do you torment me so? Vy are you so cruel?”_

_Horrifically, Beatrice began to cry._

_“Vy do you do this?” She wept, her voice shaking pathetically. “Vy are you doing this to me? He’s my friend. I just vont him back. He’s my friend… he’s my oldest and dearest friend. All I vont iz to have him back. Please let me have him back.”_

_She hunched over the table, her shoulders racking with sobs, and now even Grindelwald himself looked uncomfortable. “Please give us the key. I just vont him back.”_

_She was jeopardizing their whole operation, she knew. She’d only come this far because she’d managed to conceal her true emotions, and she’d been so close to finding her friend, but now she’d ruined it. She’d ruined all of it. But try as she might, she just couldn’t stop crying._

_James’ hands began to massage her shoulders. She turned away from Grindelwald, unable to bear having to look at him anymore. But if she had, she would’ve seen the genuine sympathy in his eyes, and his hand as it reached up to his pocket._

_“Here you are, Miss Kramer,” Grindelwald said gently, and there was a soft “clink” as he set the key down on the table. “I assure you, you will find Director Graves living in only the utmost comfort known to man.”_

_Beatrice turned back to him slowly, her eyes wide in disbelief. She looked down at the little key on the table, then back up at Grindelwald, then back down at key, and her eyes grew wider still. With an animal-like urgency, her hand snapped out to snatch it up, and then she and James were sprinting from the cell without looking back._

_A mere half an hour later, the two of them, along with the rest of the Aurors, President Picquery, several officials from the DMS, and some other various staff, were all packed into Percival’s office. Beatrice stepped forward, the little key in her hand, and slid it smoothly into the keyhole. She turned the key, and the lock clicked open._

_Everyone raised their wands._

_James stood right behind her, his hand on her shoulder, and they all tensed as she flicked open the latches. And then, with one swift move, she threw open the lid._

_Darkness, as far as she could see, descended down into the box, much farther down than what was possible for its capacity. President Picquery stepped forward to have a look for herself, and the two of them shared a glance._

_“Vot should ve do, Madam President?” She asked softly. “Vot is to be our next move?”_

_The President looked around the room, at all the people watching her with expectant eyes, and gave them all a sharp nod._

_“There is only one way to find out the contents of that box,” she began, “and that is to search it. Porter, I’m putting you in charge; I want you to lead the Aurors down there, find Director Graves, find anyone Grindelwald might be holding in captivity, as well as anything… suspicious.”_

_Cassandra stepped forward, and they nodded to each other. “Right away, Madam President.”_

_“Moone!” President Picquery addressed the healer from the Infirmary Ward. “Doctor Moone, I’d like you to head down too, in case we find our- anyone in a state of medical emergency._

_“Right away, Madam President,” Doctor Juniper Moone stepped forward, already clutching a bag of medical supplies._

_President Picquery nodded to her, before turning back to put a hand on Cassandra’s shoulder. “Unfortunately, I won’t be able to stay for very long, but these officials,” she waved to the men and woman standing behind her, “will stay to alert me of any disturbances.”_

_She regarded all the Aurors, who looked back at her solemnly. “You don’t know what you’re going to find down there, regardless of what Grindelwald has already told us. So… be careful. Please be careful, and good luck.”_

_The President turned and left the room, and for a second Beatrice could swear she had seen her shoulders tremble, just slightly._

_She was afraid._

_Beatrice looked around, and she could see quite clearly that they were all afraid. For all they knew, once they entered the case, they might never come out again._

_She took James’ hand. He held it tightly._

_Cassandra took a deep breath, and then she stepped forward. Beatrice stepped aside to allow her room._

_Cassandra cast a quiet “lumos” charm; the tip of her wand lit up like a torch. Slowly, she reached her wand down into the darkness, until her whole arm had disappeared down into the box. And then, before they could blink, the rest of her had been pulled in with it._

_They all started forward, crying out in alarm, but then the very next second a stream of green sparks shot up into the room._

_“I’m okay!” Cassandra’s voice called, from what sounded like deep within the box. “I can see you, it’s not so far!”_

_Jasper Johnson stepped forward to call back: “Stay where you are! We’ll be right down!”_

_He was the next to descend into the box, and then one by one they all filed in. Beatrice was one of the last to head inside, and she gave James’ hand one final squeeze before reaching down into the darkness._

_She felt a tug in her gut, not unlike the kind one would feel when Apparating, and then the next thing she knew she was being pulled into the case, flurrying down into the darkness, through an open door, before landing heavily on what felt like a smooth-tiled floor._

_She looked down. It was indeed a smooth-tiled floor that she was standing on; in fact, it appeared they had entered what looked a grand entrance hall, complete with exquisite wallpaper, beautiful pictures, and even a crystal chandelier._

_There was a thud as James landed next to her, and when he noticed their surroundings, he immediately swore loudly._

_“James!” Cassandra hissed. “Be quiet.”_

_James looked embarrassed._

_The group started forward, looking around in growing confusion. They’d been expecting something akin to a prison cell, with filthy floors and shackles and the like. They didn’t know how to feel about this… this relative palace._

_But as they ventured further down the hall, and as they began to explore the vast number of rooms, they began to notice a growing state of deterioration: the fine paintings had been torn or thrown to the floor, furniture had been overturned, the exquisite wallpaper was faded and peeling, shards of glass and fine china littered the floor; some had even been stabbed into the walls, and a faint stench of burnt hair began to fill their nostrils._

_As they collectively began to search the fifth room in the “house”, without any disturbances of signs of life, Cassandra decided it was safe to split up. She and three others would continue exploring the downstairs area, while the rest of them would head upstairs and see what they could find. Beatrice and James were put into the upstairs group._

_They headed upstairs quietly, Beatrice in the lead. There were no windows to speak of inside the “house”, and so their surroundings were pitch black. Even so, none of them were very willing to flick on a light for fear of what they could find, but when Beatrice finally swallowed down her nerves and reached for a cord, it was very upsetting to discover that there were none._

_They all split up again, in order to search the rooms more quickly. Dangerous as it might be, they were all rather desperate to leave this horrible place as soon as they can. While Beatrice was paired with James and Paula Morrison, a junior Auror, she soon found herself wandering off alone._

_She headed down the hallway, stopping every now and then to peek into the rooms she passed. She didn’t stay in the one for very long; she didn’t care if she skipped over any crucial information. Right now, her top priority was finding her friend._

_She turned a corner into another corridor, with yet more doors lined along the walls, but Beatrice ignored these in favour of the very last door, situated at the very end of the corridor._

_As she walked towards it, she felt a growing sense of foreboding, a fear of what she would find once she opened it. But she kept going, and even as her heart began to pound her pace quickened, until she was almost sprinting the rest of the way towards it._

_Her hands shook as she reached for the doorknob._

_It didn’t turn, and that was when she knew Percival was inside._

_Beatrice tried every spell she knew, and when that didn’t work she tried to disassemble the doorknob. She then attempted to pick the lock, as she’d done with the case, but that didn’t work either. Finally, she resorted to kicking it with all the strength she could muster, but the door stubbornly stayed closed._

_She would’ve called out, to the friend she knew was inside, but she doubted he would be able to help. No doubt Grindelwald had locked Percival in there himself, and once Grindelwald was arrested he was unable to get out on his own. But if that were the case, than… that meant that Percival was indeed dead on the other side._

_Beatrice bit back a sob, shaking her head furiously. She had a job to do. Whether or not she’d lost her friend, she still had a job to do, and she wasn’t going to let Grindelwald win._

_She walked back down the hallway, turning into the nearest room. Then, she walked over to the wall that lined up with the doorway, and immediately began to blast her way through it._

_The wall collapsed in a pile of timber and plaster, making an enormous racket, and Beatrice stepped through the rising dust cloud, holding her wand out protectively._

_The room was far different from any of the rooms she’d seen so far: empty, bland, not a trace of furniture or fine decorum, but for the faded armchair facing the only window in the house, right in front of her._

_She could hear her friends shouting in the distance, wondering what had caused the noise; the dust cloud itched her nostrils and made it hard to breathe, but it all fell away as she walked farther into the room, towards whatever must be seated in that chair._

_Closer, closer, she could see the top of a head, a skinny hand resting on the arm. She bit the inside of her cheek, feeling as though she could collapse into hysterics if she wasn’t careful, and as she stepped even closer she held her breath entirely._

_Finally, the great journey came to an end, and she was stepping completely around the chair, eyes squeezed shut, to face the man seated within it._

_She opened her eyes._

_And her body went numb._

_In all her time as a human being upon this Earth, Beatrice Kramer had of course been subject to many violent acts. As a child in Germany, the other children would throw matches into her hair, surrounding her with screams of “Hexe! Hexe!” As a teenager, attending Durmstrang, the acts of hate had by then ceased, but the violence manifested in other forms. Bitchy girls would bully her for her Jewish background. Stupid boys would trip her and yank on her hair when she refused to respond to their incessant sexual taunting. And even when she finally left her country, the violence didn’t stop._

_During her work as an Auror, she had many times been held at wand-point, knife-point, even gun-point. She had been witness firsthand to the horrific acts of an evil woman she longed to forget. She had seen the bloodshed of war, the enslavery of children, poverty, disease, murder, suicide. She had seen what those bastard men did to her dearest Sara. She had seen the manifestation of the Obscurus, in all its great and terrible beauty. But as she opened her eyes, none of it seemed to light a candle to what she found before her. Nothing in the world could have prepared her for what she saw now._

_Percival Graves was indeed seated in the chair, stripped bare as the day he was born. She could see every bone in his body, every bruise and scar marring his skin. His entire body was completely devoid of all hair, so much that he almost resembled an underfed, overgrown infant. He was so pale, almost grey, and his eyes were sunken and bleary, and when she looked closer she could see they were still open, just half-so, and their rich brown had faded to a milky grey, and now they appeared to be staring at her, almost as if in anger for not finding him sooner._

_He was almost unrecognizable, but at the same time it was undeniably him._

_And he was undeniably dead._

_Beatrice fell to her knees, an agonized scream ripping from her throat._

_There were tears, still on his face. Shiny, fresh tears, and when she brought herself to touch his cheek she found they were still wet._

_He’d been alive when they entered the dreaded case._

_He must’ve heard them looking for him._

_Beatrice screamed._

_He must’ve tried to call out, or tried to stand so he could pound on the door, but found his body was too weak. And so he’d remained stationary, only able to weep, and hope they would find him in time._

_But they hadn’t._

_She hadn’t._

_Beatrice screamed and she screamed, until finally her voice broke and she collapsed into hysterical sobs. She heard rushing footsteps heading her way, but all she could do was cry, and clutch onto Percival’s cold, clammy hand._

_“I’m sorry, dear friend,” she whispered. “I failed you.”_

_She heard fists began to pound at the door; heard James’ voice calling out in alarm. She managed to choke down another sob, long enough to direct them to the hole in the wall, and then a moment later James was rushing into the room, wand held high._

_He froze, and as the other Aurors began to file in behind him they all froze too._

_Beatrice regarded them all from her place on the floor. What a sight she must look, curled up and sobbing, makeup ruined, clutching the hand of a naked corpse, but at that moment she couldn’t possibly care._

_“Ve vurr too late,” she said miserably, only just loud enough for them all too hear. “He’s gone.”_

_James stepped forward, but then Doctor Moone was pushing past him, already opening her bag._

_“I’ll be the judge of that,” she said sternly. “I’m sorry, child, but I’m going to need you to move over.”_

_“Here,” James stepped forward, taking Beatrice’s hand and leading her away from the chair. Knowing it was for the best, Beatrice let herself be taken._

_James kept his arm around her waist. She leaned her head against his chest, keeping a sharp eye on every move the healer made._

_Doctor Moone first began by checking Percival’s pulse points, as any doctor might do. She pressed her fingers to his wrists, to each side of his neck; finally, she leaned forward and pressed her ear to his chest._

_And then she turned to Beatrice, seeming to know it was most of all her who needed the information that would then slip past her lips._

_“He’s alive.”_

_*_

_Several hours later, Beatrice was still sitting in the Infirmary ward, at Percival’s side. He was deeply asleep, but his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and so she wasn’t concerned. In such a state as he was in, she wouldn’t be surprised if he slept for a week straight._

_His hand was still deathly cold, and uncomfortably clammy, but Beatrice had been gripping it like a vice all the while, her other hand stroking gently over his bald head. On the other side of the bed, Doctor Lucius Valentine, a strikingly beautiful friend of Doctor Moone’s paying a visit from New Orleans, was busy lighting candles and setting them about the bed._

_The moment they had brought him into the ward, to find he had been conscious all the while but too weak to speak, Doctor Moone immediately prepared a quick drink of herbal tea stirred through with several phoenix tears. The simple remedy instantly relieved him of his starved state, and though of course he was still thin as a twig, at least they no longer had to fear him dying before their eyes._

_Percival had immediately lost consciousness upon consuming the drink, but Beatrice knew there was no reason for concern. He was exhausted, and no doubt had faced much emotional and physical trauma while in the case, and when he woke up he would of course still be painfully hungry, but above all he was alive, and he was safe, and he was home. They hadn’t lost their Director, and Beatrice hadn’t lost her friend. She hadn’t failed in finding him. She hadn’t lost her friend._

_Doctor Valentine circled around to her side of the bed, and she found herself hunching over her friend protectively, but he only leaned forward to slip a beaded bracelet around Percival’s skinny wrist._

_The older man chuckled. “There is no need to be afrrraid,” he said kindly, not seeming at all offended by her behavior. “I mean your frrriend no ‘arm.”_

_Beatrice looked around incredulously at the various ornaments: the candles, the jewellery, the mauve powder he had earlier sprinkled over both the bed and Percival’s sleeping form. “Vot iz all this?” She found herself asking – it didn’t seem to be medicine. “Vot iz it for?_

_“Good energy,” Doctor Valentine replied. “Very spirrritual… err, stuff. It will assist in the ‘ealing prrrocess, keep away bad spirrrits and negative energy while your frrriend rrrecovers. These candles ‘ere–“ he pointed to each one in turn- “blue for ‘ealth, pink for ‘ealing, rrrouge for strrrength, and the black ward off negative energy.”_

_Beatrice managed a smile. To be honest, it all seemed rather preposterous to her – surely a silly necklace and a few candles would have no effect on Percival’s condition. But Doctor Valentine seemed to be confident in what he was doing; he must’ve done this hundreds of times before, and he wouldn’t be doing it now if it had proved to be bogus, so Beatrice just nodded and left him to it._

_“Thank you, Doctor Valentine.”_

_He grinned in return, reaching up to tip his hat just so._

_Doctor Moone returned a moment later, grinding herbs in a mortar and pestle. She took one look at Percival and almost threw a fit._

_“VALENTINE!” She started forward, eyes wide in distress. “LUCIUS VALENTINE, WHAT IN THE WORLD HAVE YOU DONE TO MY PATIENT???”_

_Doctor Valentine didn’t seem fazed, seemingly used to such outbursts. “Rrrelax, Juni,” he said soothing. “It will assist in the ‘ealing prrrocess.”_

_Doctor Moone looked skeptical. “No, what will assist in the healing process is medicine! Medicine, Luce, not all this superstitious hooey-baloney!”_

_Beatrice suppressed a snort._

_The doctors began to bicker lightheartedly. Meanwhile, Beatrice turned back to her friend, resuming in stroking over his forehead. She tightened her hand around his, and it was then that she realized he was holding something in his fist._

_She looked down curiously, wondering if it was her place to see what it was. If he’d been holding onto it all this while, perhaps it was to keep it from Grindelwald’s hands. Perhaps it was something important._

_She decided it was proper protocol that she investigate the matter, and so she began to carefully peel his clammy fingers away from whatever he held so tightly._

_She started when she saw the little object, having been held so tightly it left a sizable imprint in his palm. Indeed, when she tried to pick it up, it took her several moments to carefully remove it from where it was embedded in his flesh._

_She held it up to her face, wondering what it could possibly mean. She stared at it in something akin to shock, questions beginning to fill her mind, but before she could verbalize her discovery, the sound of footsteps distracted her._

_She turned to face their visitor, absentmindedly slipping the little object into her pocket, where it was immediately forgotten as she realized it was none other than the President herself hurrying towards them._

_Beatrice immediately stood, bowing her head respectfully. Doctors Moone and Valentine had by now began to debate the merits of chicken sacrifice, but they both quietened as President Picquery approached the bed._

_She took one look at Percival and swore loudly._

_“Madam President!” Beatrice and Doctor Moone both exclaimed, at the same time that Doctor Valentine cried, “Sacre bleu!”_

_They all knew to be careful around curse words; in fact, the whole reason they were known as “curse” words now was because the raw emotion behind them could, in many instances, indirectly summon a spell. If the President wasn't careful, she might accidentally worsen Percival’s already fragile condition._

_President Picquery appeared unfazed. “I apologize for not coming sooner,” she stated, looking back down at Percival’s sleeping form. “How’s he doing?”_

_“He’s very weak, Madam President,” Doctor Moone stepped forward to reply. “When Miss Kramer here found him in the case, he was in a far worse state than you see him now, but I put together a quick remedy of tea and phoenix tears. He’s going to be okay, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to keep him in here for a while.”_

_“That’s fine, Doctor,” President Picquery nodded at her. She turned to Beatrice with something akin to a smile. “Good work, Kramer.”_

_“Thank you Madam President,” Beatrice bowed her head respectfully._

_Doctor Moone looked down at her patient, brows knit in concern. “I’d prefer to send him to St. Agatha’s, just to ensure he receives a proper recovery, but for all we know the journey could only worsen his condition. He’s not going to die, but he’ll very weak for a few weeks to come. It’s best that he remain immobile for a while.”_

_Percival was not going to like that, Beatrice thought on a whim._

_“That’s_ fine _, Doctor,” the President repeated, and she offered the Doctor a gentle smile. “At least he’ll be in capable hands.”_

_Doctor Moone nodded firmly. “He sure will, Madam President.”_

_“Madam President!” Another, much younger voice called from the doorway, and then the next second a young man who looked like he still belonged in Ilvermorny came running towards them, clutching a role of papers in his hand._

_President Picquery closed her eyes, exhaling loudly through her nostrils. Nevertheless, she turned to greet him._

_“What is it now, Riviera?” She asked impatiently._

_The boy looked sheepish. “S-sorry to interrupt, again, Madam President…” He held the roll of papers out to her. “We have those papers for you to sign, for Grindelwald’s transfer, Madam.”_

_“About time,” the President sighed again, but then she offered a tired smile to the boy, and accepted the papers gently. “Thank you Riviera.”_

_Riviera bowed his head respectfully. “You’re welcome, Madam President.”_

_“Grindelvald’s being transferred?” Beatrice asked. “Verr?”_

_In all the fuss of finding her friend, Beatrice had almost completely forgotten Grindelwald was still in the building, but hearing his name now began to stir feelings of anger that she could not ignore._

_The President turned back to her, as she unrolled the papers. “He has served his purpose here. Now that we’ve found Director Graves, who appears to be his only hostage, we have no real need for him to stay. We’re sending him off to Poughkeepsie tonight.”_

_Beatrice nodded in reply. The President then pulled out a quill and signed the appropriate documents, before rolling them back up and handing them back to the boy._

_“Thank you, Madam President,” the boy bowed again. “Is there any other way I might be able to assist you?”_

_“Hmm, yes,” President Picquery nodded. “If you could head down to the cellars, find me a bottle of the strongest red wine we have and bring it up to my office with a large glass, I’d be most grateful, young man. I’ve had quite enough of foreign wizards with magical boxes.”_

_Doctor Moone snorted._

_Riviera looked affronted for only a moment, before he was bowing his head again. “Right away, Madam President.”_

_He turned to go, and then Beatrice was stepping forward._

_“Vait.”_

_The boy turned back to face her. “Yes, um… Miss?”_

_The President was looking at her now too._

_“Verr… verr is Grindelvald now?” She asked casually. “Iz he still in his cell?”_

_The young man nodded. “Yes, yes he is.”_

_President Picquery cocked her brow. “Why do you ask, Kramer?”_

_Beatrice gave her a little earnest smile. “I only desire a small talk, Madam President,” she replied smoothly. “He zeems to like me, and zo perhaps I could veasel zumting else out of him, before he’s gone for good.”_

_The President raised her brow even further, not seeming convinced these were the Auror’s real motives, but nevertheless she nodded. “Very well. Be careful down there, Kramer.”_

_“Thank you, Madam President,” she ducked her head in gratitude, before stepping away from the hospital bed. As she walked towards the doorway, she heard the President murmur, “Have O’Flaherty head down too, will you? Just to make sure she doesn’t kill him.”_

_“Right away, Madam President!” The young man eagerly replied._

_The moment Beatrice left the ward, she dropped the act. Her casual gait turned into a purposeful stride, and her easy expression quickly became one of murder. The offices were often rather crowded this time of the day, but as she practically ran down the halls towards the elevator, witches and wizards alike were actually vaulting over the tables to get out of her way._

_As they should, she thought proudly. She wondered for a brief moment if this was how the President felt._

_The elevator couldn’t descend fast enough; with each second that passed her anger only multiplied, and the by time they’d finally reached the first floor Beatrice was charging out like a rocket. However, as she headed down the stairs to the holding cells, she slowed down, and had resumed a regular pace and casual attitude by the time she approached Grindelwald’s cell. She smiled politely at the guards, one of which nodded in reply, and stepped forward to open the heavy door._

_“Ah, Miss Kramer,” Grindelwald smiled as she walked in, looking genuinely pleased to see her. “Might I say, it is my absolute pleasure to see you again.”_

_Beatrice stepped over to the table, her face a mask of stone. The door swung shut behind her. Moments later, she heard the lock click._

_“I assume you’ve found your Director by now.” Grindelwald continued to smile. “How’s he doing?”_

_Beatrice scoffed. “How’s he doing?”_

_She circled around the table, to stand menacingly before him. She glared down at him, eyes burning with rage._

_“How’s he doing?” She repeated._

_For the first time, Grindewald looked confused. “Wha-?”_

_Beatrice struck him across the face._

_Gellert Grindelwald was, without a doubt, highly trained in most forms of magical combat known to wizardkind. With a wand in his hand, he could sooner bring the world to its knees than in the time it took to have someone fix him a sandwich (had of course he not been so lazy)._

_But when it came to actual hand-to-hand combat, getting down and dirty the no-maj way, well, Grindelwald didn’t stand a chance against Beatrice’s good right hook, especially considering the fact of him being shackled to the table. Perhaps it was dishonourable, to attack him in such a way when he was so defenseless, but in that moment she was so consumed with complete and utter rage that she honestly could not care less._

_Again and again, she hit him, screaming profanities, even lapsing completely into German at several intervals. Grindelwald had no way of protecting himself, and soon he began to spit blood, but even then she just kept hitting him, until it seemed sure that he would either pass out or she would indeed kill him, whichever came first._

_“UTMOST COMFORT!” She roared, landing each word with another blow. “UTMOST COMFORT!”_

_Through her own screams, she could hear the guards outside in a panic, squabbling furiously. They could see her through the slot in the doorway, could see exactly what she was doing, but had now put up for debate whether or not to abandon their post and help the prisoner, or to stay where they were lest they too suffer her wrath. Finally, she heard the door slam open, and then strong arms were wrapping around her to tug her away._

_She struggled viciously, arms swinging around wildly, still screaming in German; she must’ve looked psychotic._

_“Whoa! Whoa there, luv!” James’ voice cried, staring in shock in the damage she had caused - he’d never seen her act so violently. “What go’en on here?”_

_Beatrice ignored him, still struggling in his grip. “Utmost comfort!” She screamed again. “He voz half-dead und zurrounded by garbage, you BASTARD!”_

_“What on Earth are you going on about, you stupid woman!” Grindelwald yelled back._

_“Shut up, you!” James snapped rudely._

_Beatrice had thankfully stopped struggling, but she was still trembling from head to toe, so James put his hands on her shoulders, hoping to steady her._

_“What happened, luv?” He asked gently. “What’s go’en on?”_

_“I could ask the very same question,” Grindelwald remarked shakily, voice thick due to a mouthful of blood. “Though of course using formal English.”_

_“Shut up!” James snarled._

_Beatrice stared at the man in the chair, at the way his face now resembled a split prune, and her eyes widened in shock. She looked down at her trembling hands, still curled into fists, the skin over her knuckles split and bleeding. The evidence was right in front of her, but… surely she hadn’t actually done such a thing?_

_“I…” her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “I…”_

_She suddenly felt a bit a faint._

_“Miss Kramer,” Grindelwald spoke up defiantly. “Miss Kramer, you have just stalked into this cell like an animal and attacked me. I believe you owe us all an explanation as to why.”_

_“Shut UP, you…“ James began, but he trailed off as Beatrice walked back over to the table, to stand before Grindelwald._

_She raised her wand, and he flinched visibly, but she merely murmured a spell to fix his broken nose, and then another to heal the cuts on his lip and cheek. Another spell cleared the blood from his face and neck, until finally all that remained were several bruises over his eyes and nose. And with another wave of her wand, those disappeared too._

_Beatrice studied him for a moment more, and then tapped her wand against his jaw. He gave a sharp cry as the teeth she’d dislodged fixed back into place, but otherwise remained silent, staring up at her in annoyance._

_She’d been doing so well, these past few weeks. Sure, technically she was an enemy, but he liked her. He really did. She was intelligent, and strong, and amusing, and far more interesting to talk to than any of his silly, violence-driven followers. Their few weeks of mature conversation, her daring attitude; it had all been so refreshing. It was so upsetting to see she too could so easily let her emotions get to her head. Though he supposed, in the end, he couldn’t expect much different from a woman, much less a German woman at that._

_Beatrice’s eyes swept over him one last time, and then she backed away from him, to take a seat in her designated chair. James stepped forward to put his hand on her shoulder._

_It was like the ordeal had never occurred, but for the cuts on her knuckles, and the way her shoulders still trembled slightly. However, when she spoke again, her voice was completely calm._

_“I apologize, Mr Grindelvald,” she said quietly. “I… lost myself.”_

_Grindelwald scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Apology accepted, Miss Kramer,” he mumbled nevertheless._

_Beatrice ignored the blatant sarcasm. “Mr Grindelvald,” she began, in her usual professional tone, “do you remember vot you zed to me earlier today, after you handed me the key to the case?”_

_Grindelwald cocked his head; his eyes twinkled. Before he could speak, however, Beatrice was answering the question for him._

_“Mr Grindelvald, you assured me dat ve vood find Percy living in the utmost comfort.”_

_“That I did,” Grindelwald confirmed. “Quite truthfully, might I add. Was that… not, how you found him?”_

_Beatrice scoffed. “No.”_

_Grindelwald frowned. “Tell me then, what did you find, Miss Kramer?”_

_He seemed genuinely curious._

_Beatrice sighed impatiently. She’d had quite enough of his mind games, but if this was how he wanted to play, so be it._

_“You know very vell vot ve found, Grindelvald,” she snarled. “Utmost comfort, tch… that place voz in ruins und you knew it. You knew ve vood find… you hoped ve…” Beatrice scarcely knew where to begin. “All deez veeks of vasting time, you vurr just vaiting for him to die, vaiting for him to starve to death. Und you assured us he voz alright, assured us ve vood find him alive und healthy und safe?!”_

_Grindelwald cocked his brow. “And was he not?”_

_Alright, that was enough._

_Beatrice leapt up from her chair, her face contorted in rage. James took a step back._

_“He voz STARVED!” She roared. “STARVED UND NAKED UND HAIRLESS, LOCKED IN A BOX FOR TWO MONTHS, STARVING UND DYING UND ALONE UND YOU TOLD HE VOZ LIVING IN THE UTMOST COMFORT. YOU LIED TO US ALL. YOU LIED TO ME!”_

_Beatrice couldn’t understand why such a thing affected her so, but nevertheless it did._

_Grindelwald cocked his head. “Starved?”_

_Beatrice groaned in frustration. No wonder this pathetic excuse for a man had so many followers – he’d probably employed them all just to tie his shoelaces, no doubt._

_“Yes, starved.” James stepped forward then. He put his arm around Beatrice’s waist. “Just as ye hoped, ye freak. But we found him. We found him alive, and he’s gonna be fine. Ye’ve lost, Grindelwald. Ye can’t hurt us anymore.”_

_Beatrice touched his hand._

_Grindelwald’s eyelids flickered. He looked up at the ceiling, before frowning thoughtfully down at the floor. Finally his gaze returned to her, and he raised his eyebrows at her, as if she were a simple child, unable to grasp at the obvious answer to a question._

_“Vot iz it?” She snapped._

_Grindelwald rolled his eyes. “Miss Kramer, I’m afraid I still don’t understand what warranted you barging in here and assaulting me.”_

_Beatrice rolled her own eyes, annoyed. Did he want her to spell it out to him like a child? Well then, fine._

_She stepped forward, slamming her hands onto the table, leaning down until her face was mere inches from his._

_“You have vasted all ov our time vit your stupid games,” she sneered. “You have lied, again und again. You have kidnapped my friend und left him to die. You have zent us to find vot you hoped to be his corpse, after specifically assuring us he voz alive und okay, und now you… you even think to dare und zit here, und complain like a baby about a few stupid punches, ven you caused us all more pain den you can EVER imagine!”_

_She stepped back again, seething with anger. “Utmost comfort… don’t make me laugh.”_

_Grindelwald stared up at her, still frowning._

_He looked down, appearing to be thinking hard. Every now and again, his expression shifted, as if he were solving problems inside his head. He looked surprised one moment, then thoughtful the next, then horrified, and then thoughtful again until finally his expression settled on something akin to amusement._

_Beatrice watched all of this impatiently (though admittedly still curious)._

_“Miss Kramer-“_

_“VOT?” She roared, perhaps a bit brashly. “Exactly vot iz it dat you think iz zo important to zay?!”_

_Grindelwald cocked his brow. “Miss Kramer,” he repeated. “Do you know how long it takes for a grown man to starve to death?”_

_Beatrice gaped at him, utterly shocked. How dare he. How dare he!_

_She could’ve hit him – again. And she almost did, but then… she just turned away._

_She was done. Done with his lies, done with his mockery. She refused to listen to anything else the bastard had to say._

_“Come on, James,” she said quietly. “Let’s get out ov here.”_

_James put his arm back around her waist, and she leaned against his shoulder. They began to walk away from the table, but just as they reached the door to the cell, Grindelwald spoke again._

_“Three weeks, Miss Kramer.”_

_Beatrice stopped._

_“Yes, I’d say three weeks is just about as long as it takes,” Grindelwald continued. “Well, usually it’d be not much more than two, but knowing your Director, such a strong, resilient man as he is, three is most definitely the limit._

_“And do you know how long I’ve been held in here?” Grindelwald didn’t wait for her to answer. “Two months. Just over two months, to be precise.”_

_Beatrice turned back to face him. James’ hand tightened on her hip._

_Grindelwald’s tone was rather professional, but above all his expression seemed troubled. Nevertheless, he continued to speak in the same manner._

_“Your friend said you found him alive, Miss Kramer,” Grindelwald stated. “And yet here you are, accusing me of laying his corpse out for you to find, in some sort of twisted treasure hunt? For one, that is far beneath my expertise – if I had indeed killed Percival Graves, you would never have found his body.”_

_“Shut up, ye arsehole!” James snarled._

_Grindelwald tutted, unfazed. “So rude. Anyway, as I was saying, and for another, it’s all a matter of decent arithmetic, Miss Kramer. Two months, minus three weeks, that’s still over a month. If I had indeed left him in the box to die, he would’ve long been dead by the time I allowed you to find him. But… you said he was alive, so…?”_

_Beatrice’s heart pounded in her chest. Surely he… surely he couldn’t…_

_“Vot exactly are you implying?” She whispered. Her voice was still trembling, but this time it wasn’t with anger._

_“Oh, come on, Miss Kramer,” Grindelwald smirked then. “Use your head. You’re an intelligent woman, aren’t you? You’ve certainly proven so, these past couple of months._

_He smiled encouragingly at her, as if she were indeed no more than a dim-witted pupil. “Come on,” he crooned. “Do the math.”_

_Beatrice remained silent, staring at him defiantly, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest. “You’re wrong,” she finally whispered. “You’re wrong, he would never-“_

_“Ooh, I’d have to disagree with you there, Miss Kramer,” Grindelwald smiled. “If you should ever manage to muster the bravery to return to that case, I can guarantee you will find there is still water in the taps, still food in the pantry. It is a charmed pantry, you see, with the means of refilling itself once stock reaches a certain low. Percy was against it at first – each refill is taken from the kitchens of some bothersome egg – but nevertheless the food was there, and he could eat as much as he wanted, even if he’d been in there for a year.”_

_Beatrice was now trembling from head to toe. “You’re wrong,” she repeated. “You’re wrong! He wouldn’t have… he couldn’t have…”_

_“Oh, but he did,” Grindelwald pursed his lips, looking sympathetic. “I’m sorry to say it, Miss Kramer, but it’s true.”_

_“No… no…” Beatrice’s voice trembled too, even as she voiced her denial, and as she finally remembered what she’d found clutched in Percival’s hand, she knew Grindelwald was speaking the devastating and terrible truth._

_She slipped her hand into her pocket, to withdraw the little key and hold it out in her palm. Without having to ask, she knew it was the key to the room Percival had been locked in. The one Percival had locked himself in to die._

_James looked down at the key, his eyes widening in horror._

_Grindelwald took one look at the key, and gave an affirming nod._

_“Don’t you see?” He murmured. “He did this to himself.”_

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Despite his initial enthusiasm upon seeing his meal, Percival didn’t actually end up eating very much of it. Much to Beatrice’s concern, Percival just spent the next few minutes picking at his food silently, pushing it around his plate with his fork but never actually putting anything into his mouth. Even when she eventually set down her own fork, he seemed fixated on the menial task, until finally she just reached over to grasp his hand.

Percival flinched. Beatrice went red.

“Eat something,” she murmured, perhaps a little desperately. “Please.”

Percival didn’t look at her. He knew she was worried about him, and his apparent good morning from earlier in the morning had all been a façade, one constructed so she thought he was doing okay. He wanted to spend time with her like friends. He hated feeling like a patient.

It was odd, though. Usually, he was an excellent actor, and could flawlessly maintain his front even around the most intimidating of suspects, but now… Now he felt too exhausted

He looked at Beatrice’s hands, wrapped around his right, keeping him from moving his fork. He realized his left pointer finger was tapping against the table.

He sighed, slipping his hand from hers. She let it go.

He put his fork to his plate again, but this time he actually scooped up some of his eggs, lifted them to his mouth, and obediently began to eat. He couldn’t understand it, but he felt too tired to argue.

He was hungry, he had to admit. He’d barely had two hours of sleep, and after spending seven hours lying awake in bed (pretending to be asleep whenever the Goldstein girl popped into the room), he was in fact starving. And while Queenie Goldstein could be a bit of a headache every now and then, he had to admit her cooking was positively marvelous. But why he suddenly felt so against actually sitting down to eat, he couldn’t explain.

Maybe it was because she had cooked it for him, and that he hadn’t cooked it for himself. During his time spent in that box, Grindelwald had cooked all his meals for him, excepting of course the times Grindelwald found himself “too busy to visit”. Those days, Percival usually hadn’t eaten unless absolutely starving – he detested the fact that all the food was stolen, but the days that Grindelwald stayed in the case, if Percival had dared refuse anything the bastard prepared for him…

Percival choked down another mouthful of eggs.

Now, it still made him uncomfortable to have meals prepared for him, but he just remained silent and endured. It’d all be over soon enough, he was sure, and he could return to-

What?

What could he return to?

That bastard had stayed in his apartment, had spent day after day in his office. Grindelwald had worn his clothes, had used his wand, had… had touched everything, ruined everything. He couldn’t return there, not without feeling the bastard’s presence everywhere. In the walls, in the floor, in the air…

He’d touched Lily’s things.

He’d touched Little Tabitha. And now Tabitha had run away.

And he’d touched Credence. The bastard had hurt his Credence. His boy, his sweet, his darling.

And now Credence was dead.

And Percival had nothing.

*

Beatrice was, of course, extremely concerned when Percival, abruptly and without explanation, just up and left the table. She merely watched him for a moment, as he shakily headed back into the house, debating on whether to stay or follow. After another moment, she decided it would be most sensible to follow, and so she rose from the table herself, and headed up to the house after him.

Once inside, she found him just sitting down the couch, draping a throw rug around his shoulders. He then laid down fully, curling in on himself and turning away from her.

His eyes had looked tearful.

Beatrice bit her lip. “Percy?”

He didn’t reply.

Beatrice stayed in the doorway. She’d dealt with this sort of this thing before, many times, with many different people, and she could do it again.

“Percy, vood you like to be left alone?”

There was a moment’s silence, before her friend whispered the tiniest: “No.”

Beatrice walked over to him, and sat down on the floor, next to his head.

“May I touch you?” She asked gently.

Percival nodded.

She reached out, softly touched his shoulder. She began to rub his back.

“Vot happened?” She murmured, stilling her hand. “Did you remember zumthing? Zumthing bad?”

Percival’s breath shook just slightly. Beatrice squeezed his shoulder.

“You don’t have to-“

“I miss him.”

Percival’s voice cracked on the last word. Without having to see his face, Beatrice knew there were tears in his eyes.

“I miss him so much.”

Beatrice furrowed her brows; she bit her lip.

“Percy…” she trailed off, falling silent. She didn’t know what to say.

“Percy… I’m sorry.”

She was disgusting.

Percival exhaled deeply, and took another shaky breath. “I don’t want you to touch me right now.”

Beatrice immediately removed her hand.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“It’s fine, Percy. I understand.” Beatrice sighed. “Iz there anything I can do to help?”

Percival remained silent for a while. Beatrice sat back on her heels, ignoring her stinging calves.

“I… I think I’d like to be left alone for a while,” he said quietly. He shifted around and sat up, still encased in the blanket. He stood up then, not having once met her eye, and began to shuffle away.

“I’m sorry I didn’t finish breakfast,” he muttered over his shoulder.

“It’s o…” Beatrice would’ve said “okay”, but he’d already left the room.

Beatrice stayed where she was on the floor, calves now numb. When she heard the bedroom door close upstairs, she put her head in her hands.

She was disgusting. A fraud. A liar.

Percival was her friend. He trusted her.

He’d trusted her enough to name her first, as his carer and companion while he stayed in this rotten house. He’d trusted her before, to be his sole confidante during his affair with the (supposed) no-maj boy, and he trusted her now, enough to fall sound asleep in her company, even when he was still tormented by nightmares of that wretched villain and his cursed box. He trusted her with his life.

And all she’d done from day one was lie to him.

When Percival had finally woken up again, three days after rescuing him from that cursed box, his first words to Beatrice had been to ask where Credence Barebone was.

“I-Is he alive? Is… is he s-safe? P-please Bea, I n-need to know.”

Tina had been sitting beside her when he asked, and before Beatrice could reply, Tina had told Percival Credence was dead.

They’d discussed it previously, knowing the subject would no doubt come up sooner or later. Tina had been against the idea at first, not feeling it was right to play with their emotions like that, especially when she learned that Credence and Percival had indeed been partners. But Beatrice managed to convince her that it was best for all involved – that Credence and Percival not see each other until both had healed from their own trauma.

Finding out what Grindelwald had done to Credence, Beatrice knew the guilt of it would only destroy Percival’s process. As for Credence, having to become reconciled with a man he now associated with so much betrayal and pain… for all she knew, the consequences could be disastrous. It was best to wait until they were both ready, however long that took, before allowing them to come together to find closure.

And so they’d led Percival to believe his love was dead. And she’d never told Credence the truth.

And looking back now, Beatrice had to admit, she was still wondering if she’d made the right choice.

And seeing as she was still wondering, for all she knew, maybe she hadn’t.

Maybe Tina had been right, that it wasn’t fair to play with their emotions like that. Beatrice had known Percival a good portion of her life, almost ten years, but she wasn’t Percival. And she wasn’t Queenie Goldstein either; she couldn’t get into Percival’s head, find out how his clock ticked. For all she knew, reuniting Percival with his former love might only assist in the healing process, rather than cause drawbacks. And for all she knew about Credence, finding closure with his former love might only assist in his healing as well.

Beatrice sighed, ignoring her book to resume running her hand through Percival’s hair.

What if it was too late, though? What if she’d already missed her chance to tell him when she should, that day in the infirmary ward? She’d betrayed his trust the second the words left Tina’s lips, and they’d all been lying to him ever since. If she told him now, for all she kmnew, he would never trust her again.

She hadn’t lost her friend that day. She’d found him, and they’d brought him home. He was alive, and he was finally safe. She hadn’t lost him. She hadn’t failed him.

But that had been then, and since that day she had done nothing but lie to him. In the end, she had failed him after all, hadn’t she?

Tina had been right.

She was disgusting.

*

An hour later, Beatrice had by now cleaned up the remains of their breakfast, packing up the leftovers to stick in the icebox, and washing up the dishes.

Now, she was seated outside on the chairswing beneath the veranda, a cup of tea in one hand, and Jules Verne’s 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea in the other. Her eyes drifted over the page absentmindedly; she had to yet to actually start drinking the tea.

Finally, she came to a decision.

She closed the book with a snap, and tossed it beside her as she stood up. She headed quickly back inside the house, tossing the mug to the side (where it floated gently over to the sink), and marched over to the stairs.

Once on the top floor, her steps turned gentle, though she still moved quickly. Percival’s room was a little ways away, the third door on the right, and as Beatrice moved towards it her pace only quickened. She realized she was panting.

She hesitated a bit on the doorknob, remembering his earlier request to be left alone, but she knew this wasn’t something she could put off any longer.

She turned the handle and stepped into the room.

“Percy, there’s zumthing I have to tell you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No ragretz


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff, some angst, much gay (surprise, surprise). Credence spends the rest of day with Tina, and after dinner, Abel shares the story of his past. Hope you enjoy! :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, this chapter does mention the n-word several times, and I just want to assure you all that I mean no disrespect to any people of colour reading this story, and I fully discourage any use of it as a racist slur.

Credence stayed with Miss Tina for the rest of the afternoon.

Miss Queenie left shortly after lunch, giggling excitingly about meeting up with Jacob Kowalski! Apparently they were friends!

“Queenie really likes him,” Miss Tina grinned to Credence, as her sister rushed around the apartment in excitement, trying on outfit after outfit and debating on whether or not she bring him something to eat.

“Queenie, he works in a bakery,” Miss Tina pointed out.

“I know that!” Miss Queenie exclaimed, looking frazzled. “But he doesn’t eat the things he sells, Teen. What if he’s hungry?”

Miss Tina rolled her eyes.

Credence giggled.

Miss Queenie scrunched her nose up at them.

“Well, it’s afternoon now,” Miss Tina noted, once Miss Queenie had left. “We’ve got the whole day until you have to go home. What would you like to do?”

“Hmm?” Credence was still sitting at the table, taking in each and every detail of the apartment around him: the patterns on the rug, the grooves in the table, the rusty patches on Miss Queenie’s soup pot – he wanted to remember all of it. He looked up at her when she spoke.

“Hmm, well… Credence thought for a moment, considering the question. “Oh! Um, Miss Tina, could…” He flushed. “Could you show me some magic?”

“Magic?” Miss Tina looked surprised for a moment, but then she smiled, and walked over to lean against the table beside him. “What would you like to see, sweetie?”

Credence shrugged. “Um… I don’t know, uh… something… something pretty.”

He smiled at her. “Something pretty.”

Miss Tina grinned back. “Pretty, huh? Hmm…”

She put a hand on his shoulder. “I know just the thing.”

She slipped her hand into her jacket, and pulled out her wand, raising it up towards her bedroom. She closed her eyes, and then frowned slightly, as if in concentration. 

And then she smiled.

Her wand started to tremble, and moments later a stream of blue light erupted from its tip.

Credence watched in wonder as a luminescent blue bird began to fly around the room, wisping over his hair and swooping under the dining chairs. It stopped by Credence for a moment, and pecked at his cheek, making him giggle at the ticklish sensation, until finally it disappeared in a flurry of dust.

Credence beamed, still laughing. “That was a Patronus Charm, right?”

“Yeah, yeah it was,” Miss Tina smiled at him. “How did you know?”

“Oh, um,” Credence flushed. “Perci… Mister Graves… he showed me one, once.”

“Oh.” Miss Tina averted his eyes for a moment. “Okay... um, do you know how they’re made?”

She sat down, while Credence thought, trying to remember what Percival had told him.

“You… you have to think of something happy, right?” He asked. “Like, a happy memory? What did you think of, Miss Tina?”

Miss Tina smiled, though she suddenly seemed a little sad. Credence reached out to take her hand.

“I thought about you, Credence,” she said gently, giving his hand a little squeeze. “About finding out you were still alive.”

Credence took her other hand, the one still holding her wand. He smiled shyly. “When did you find out?”

“Beatrice told me about you, the day after she met you. I remember being so happy that I started crying – God, I was a mess.” Miss Tina chuckled, squeezing his hands. Credence squeezed back.

“Has she told you what she is?” Miss Tina asked.

Credence nodded.

“Yeah, well after I got demoted,” Miss Tina squeezed his hand again, “she was the only one that stuck by me. Even Porter and Johnson, they barely talked to me anymore. When I found out what she did to you Credence, it was like… I don’t know, I just felt so betrayed. I didn’t speak to her for so long, not even when we started working together again. I’m not proud of it, hon, but I was just so angry. You… you were only a kid.”

“It’s okay,” Credence murmured. “It’s okay, I promise.”

Miss Tina pursed her lips. “It… it didn’t hurt, did it?”

Credence knew what she meant. “It felt like I was dying.”

“Oh, Credence.”

Credence managed a smile. “I’m just glad you were there, Miss. Thank you, for trying to help me.”

He shifted in his seat, suddenly remembering something. “It was because of you, I think, that I could come back.” His voice was suddenly so quiet. “You gave me something to live for, the hope that I might be able to see you again. Without you, I think I would’ve died for real.”

“Oh, Credence!” Miss Tina’s eyes were shiny with tears. She gripped his hands like a vice.

She stood up from her chair, and stepped over to hug him tightly. Credence could feel her tears in his hair.

“Oh, God, I’m a mess,” Miss Tina stepped back, chuckling and wiping her puffy eyes. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”

Credence stood up too, already missing her embrace. “It’s alright, Miss,” he reassured her, putting his arms around her.

She laughed, and held him tightly. Credence sighed, putting his head on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come see you sooner, hon,” she said softly, running her fingers through his hair. “We uh… there were spies, at MACUSA. Spies for an enemy wizard trying to create war. Everything was on lockdown, everyone was being monitored. If I’d just gone off to Harlem without reasonable explanation, even if I was only visiting Beatrice, I’d have been detained in the Interrogations Unit for a week.”

“Huh?” Credence looked up, shocked. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh! Heh…” Miss Tina picked at his shirt collar. “Sorry, hon, just went off on a ramble. Don’t worry, everything’s fine now.”

“You’re not talking about… Grindelwald?” Credence frowned slightly, hoping he’d said it right.

Now it was Miss Tina that looked shocked, but then she cocked her brow. “Did Mister Graves tell you about that, too?”

Credence flushed. “Yeah.”

“Hmm.” Miss Tina frowned. She touched his cheek.

“Would you like to go for a walk, Credence?” She asked, completely out of context. “There’s a place I know I think you’d like to see.”

“Huh?” Credence felt confused for a moment, before shrugging. “Yeah, okay.”

“You’re so pale,” she commented, grinning. She squeezed his cheek a little, making him squirm. “When’s the last time you’ve been outside?”

“This morning,” he replied. “We went to see a picture.”

She laughed, squeezing his cheek again. Credence giggled.

Miss Tina made sandwiches for the trip, never mind that they’d just had lunch, using up what was left of the ham. She also packed some red apples, and some chocolates for Credence, all into a sweet little wicker basket she’d pulled out of the cupboard.

While she prepared their snacks, Credence found himself wondering back into her room. He sat on her bed and looked around, at the open wardrobe on Miss Queenie’s side of the room, stuffed full to bursting with pink and blue dresses and a collection of shoes; at the moving pictures on some of Miss Tina’s books, at the winking witch on Miss Queenie’s magazine collection, the framed photo of what could possibly be Miss Tina’s parents on the nightstand the pattern of the carpet and the curtains, the ironing board one which a pink slip was waiting to be put away, the lamps, the little cracks in the ceiling. The musk of old books, the faint smoky smell of the iron, the lingering scent of perfume in the air, he breathed it all in like oxygen, and it smelled like home.

“Miss Tina!” He called to the next room. “Will I be able to come back here?”

He could see his friend from here; she turned to him, setting down her knife to walk over to him.

“What do you mean?” She asked. “Do you mean after our trip, or later?”

“Later,” Credence replied. “Like, after today? Could I?”

“Yeah, of course,” Miss Tina smiled kindly. “You can come back any time you want. Even if I can’t be here, Queenie probably will. She already thinks the world of you, hon. She’d never be mean to you.”

 Credence smiled shyly, grateful for the reassurance. “I like her too. She seems really nice.”

“Yeah,” Miss Tina grinned. “Just be careful she doesn’t spoil you too much, huh?” She chuckled, turning to walk back to the kitchen. “She’s already made it her mission to fatten you up plump as her pork roast!”

Credence giggled, He patted the sheets on either side of him, smoothing them out. They looked green from a distance, but up close he could see they were actually blue and green striped. He lied down on his side, pressing his cheek to them. They too, smelled like home.

*

Credence and Miss Tina walked lazily through the city, arm in arm. Just like yesterday, Credence found himself marveling at the blue sky above him, the fluffy white clouds drifting high above the tall buildings, the cool breeze as it kissed his warm cheeks. Just like yesterday, he felt as if he were outside for the first time in a while, even though it had only been several hours.

Miss Tina led him down street after street, avenue after avenue, humming absentmindedly. Not really all that skilled with conversation, Credence found himself just gazing around at all the people they passed, noting some of the interesting ones: a young couple wearing the exact same outfit (he was in a skirt!), a group of black children chasing after a yapping dog while what he guessed to be their mother chased after them, an extremely tall woman in a long red coat and wide red hat, two very old men squabbling to each other in a foreign language, a very large group of Orthodox Jews, all wearing the same clothes and sporting the same long beards and curly sideburns, a policeman drinking alcohol straight from the bottle (this made Credence gasp), and a Southerner wearing nothing but his underclothes and playing the saxophone (Miss Tina laughed out loud at that one).

Speaking of interesting characters…

“Miss Tina?” Credence spoke up for the first time since leaving the tenement. “Miss Tina, who was, uh…”

“Hmm?” Miss Tina turned to look at him, smiling. “What is it, hon?”

_“Newt and I will protect you.”_

“Miss Tina, who is Newt?”

Miss Tina’s eyes widened just slightly. “Newt? You, you remember him?”

Credence nodded, more memories beginning to resurface, of his freckled face and green-blue eyes, of his kind voice as he spoke to Credence.

_“Credence, may I come over to you?”_

It had felt so strange to be asked that, to have to give permission to be approached. He’d never been offered that privilege before, not even when Miss Tina had tried to help him.

“Yeah, I remember him,” he continued. “The nice red-headed man, with the strange accent. Who was he?”

Miss Tina smiled. “His name’s Newt Scamander, he’s a friend of mine. He’s from England.”

Credence cocked his head. “England? Then, why was he in New York?"

Miss Tina chuckled, bumping his side. “He’s a writer, he’s writing a book about magical creatures. And… he actually keeps some of those creatures in his suitcase. He came here to set one of them free.”

“His suitcase?” Credence wondered for a moment if she was pulling his leg – surely a suitcase was too small to keep many animals, unless they were tiny? – but then he realized: “A magical suitcase?”

“Yeah,” Miss Tina smiled. “It’s so beautiful. He’s, uh… beautiful…” she trailed off, fiddling with the hem of her jacket.

Credence grinned at her, reaching over to touch her hand. “Are you fond of him, Miss Tina?”

Miss Tina fiddled a bit more, smiling wider. “Yeah, I think so. I really like him, Credence.”

Credence took her hand completely. “Where is he now?”

“England,” Miss Tina sighed. “He’s back in England now, but we’ve been writing to each other since he left, and he’s gonna visit again soon, to give me a copy of his book.”

She laughed, embarrassed. “Well, not just that, of course, you know… He’s not just gonna come, give me the book and leave, that’d be weird...”

She trailed off, hiding her face in her hand. Credence giggled, squeezing her hand.

“Yeah, I get it.”

She grinned at him, bumping his arm. “Well, how about you and Abel, huh?”

Credence cocked his head, confused. “What about me and Abel?”

Miss Tina frowned slightly. “You know… oh! You don’t… never mind then.”

“Huh?” Credence was so confused.

Miss Tina laughed. “Don’t worry about it, hon. Just forget I said anything.”

“Oh, um… okay?” Credence was still confused, but he decided just to shrug it off.

A short while later, just as Credence finished off his first sandwich, they arrived at their destination.

Or what Miss Tina _said_ was their destination. Gazing down the dark, dirty alleyway, Credence found himself holding on a little tighter to his friend’s hand.

Surely this was all a joke, he found himself thinking. Surely this couldn’t actually be what Miss Tina had in mind?

But then Miss Tina put her arm around his shoulder, leading him down into the darkness. Credence started to feel nervous.

“It’s alright, sweetie,” she said gently, rubbing his back. “It’s what at the end of the alley that I wanted to show ya.”

They kept walking, Miss Tina lighting the way with her wand. Credence tried to relax.

They turned a corner and kept walking (how big was this alley?), and fairly soon they came to a stop before a large poster advertising copper cufflinks.

“A bit ironic, this one,” Miss Tina chuckled. “Copper actually stifles magic, and enough iron can pretty much strip it away entirely.”

Credence frowned. His old belt buckle had been made of iron.

Miss Tina pulled a little key from her pocket, and slid it into the “O” in “COPPER”. Looking closer, Credence could actually see there was a keyhole hidden there.

“Clever,” he murmured.

Miss Tina grinned at him. She turned the key, and with a faint “click”, the entire section of wall swung open like a real door, improbable creaking sound and all. Miss Tina stepped through first, and since Credence was still holding her hand, he quickly followed suit.

“The magical community has shops scattered all over New York,” she explained to him, as they began to head down a small flight of stairs. “A lot of them are real shops with signs and all, but to the no-maj’s they just appear to be abandoned buildings, and others are like this one – hidden underground behind poster advertisements.”

Credence nodded.

They reached the lower stairs, enough to see where they could be, and Credence gasped. 

Books, books, books, books upon bookshelves stretching ahead almost as far as he could see, on bookshelves or stacked upon chairs or even just piled up in some places.

Credence almost ran down the next few steps.

Some books were flying, some were glowing, and some others were actually _chasing each other around on little feet_. A set of tiny little notebooks flew around him with what looked to be dragon’s wings, and one paused to settle on his shoulder.

He looked down at it for a moment, wondering perhaps if it might be a good present for Sara, but it was too small to be much use (plus it had wings).

Once the thought had passed through his head, the little notebook immediately zoomed off, as if it knew he wasn’t going to buy it.

Miss Tina laughed, taking his hand. “Yeah, this place can be a little wild, but most fellas who come here are all really nice. Oh, but uh… best be warned, though. Not all of them are… human.”

“Huh?” Credence frowned. “What do you – ow!”

He jumped in pain, looking down to find a… a… what exactly was that?

What looked to be an oversized, mutated potato was jumping around him, kicking every part of his leg it could and making scary noises. Credence tried to step back, terrified beyond belief, but it wouldn’t stop!

Why was it kicking him? What did he ever do to it? He’d never seen the thing in his life! And where had Miss Tina gone?

“YAAH!” Miss Tina suddenly appeared again, striking the thing with a tremendous kick and sending it flying halfway down the room. Credence almost groaned in relief, immediately reaching down to rub his now sore leg.

“Credence!” Miss Tina touched his arm. “Credence, are you okay? My gosh, I’m so sorry, Credence, I had no idea that would happen. I don’t even know why that guy was here!”

“What… what was that thing?” Credence asked breathlessly, still feeling very shocked by the attack.

“That, that was a gnome,” Tina explained, helping him up from where he’d fallen against a table. “That’s why I’m so confused, usually they only hang around grassy areas – parks, gardens, lakes. We’ve had so many incidents of no-maj-sightings in Central Park that we decided, it was best to just send them all off somewhere less populated, but… I guess we missed a few, huh! What he’s doing here, though, heaven knows. Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Credence had relaxed by now. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thank you, Miss.”

She smiled, patting his shoulder. “Come on sweetie,” she took his hand. “Let’s have a look around?”

“Yeah!” Credence grinned back, already one step ahead.

*

Credence pored over the books for what felt like hours, almost giddy with excitement. He’d always loved books, much more nowadays since he no longer had to read his Ma’s outdated bible stories. And these books, the ones he found in the shop, they were all so beautiful, so fantastic, so… _magic_.

He opened up a book of astrology to have stars and silver moons erupt from each page, until soon he was so covered in sparkling dust he was even sneezing the stuff. Another book on the uses magical flowers had an actual replica of each flower, one he could actually both touch and sniff.

The Lapua Lazuli smelt like heavy perfume. Credence though it was alright, but it made him sneeze.

The Delphinium smelt like the ocean. Credence liked that one very much.

The Rhodandra smelt like old fish. Credence didn’t like that one.

There were books on every kind of magic, from slight-of-hand tricks to voodoo to necromancy, the darkest of all magical arts. There were books on magical plants and magical animals (though they were all rather negative). There were books on magical medicine and magical science, as well as books on the history of magic. In other books, Credence found spells for everyday use, which included reasonable things like getting dressed quickly or charming a meal not to burn, as well as less reasonable things such as making your toothbrush brush your teeth for you (he could already hear Beatrice scoffing at that one). He also found a whole shelf of books supposedly aiming to educate wizards and witches about no-maj’s and their way of life, but those appeared to be mostly untouched.

There was an entire section dedicated to magical cooking and recipes, as well as another filled with several versions of what looked to be the magical encyclopedia. There were non-fiction books; children’s books, mystery novels, romance stories. There was a shelf packed with the stories of famous witches and wizards, including the medical works of a man who had supposedly reincarnated the dead, as well as a Middle Eastern man who looked to Credence quite a bit like Jesus Christ. There were how-to guides, school books and knitting magazines. There were thick volumes on the magical ways of different nations and cultures. There were books about magical traditions and holidays, magical housekeeping, business managing, schooling. Every book you could ever imagine or need, it was doubtful you’d never find it here.

Credence pored over as many books as he could, wishing he could take them all with him so he could read them over and over for hours. He became so completely invested in all the stories, when the frightening gnome from earlier found him again and resumed in attacking him again, he just kicked it away without a second thought.

Miss Tina kept an eye on him all while, laughing at his enthusiasm, keeping an arm around him when they passed by people they didn’t know. She kept tabs on each book he expressed much interest in, using a little notebook she always kept in her pocket (she had big pockets).

All too soon, just as Credence was learning about anti-stain spells, she took his arm and told him it was time to go.

“I’m really sorry, sweetie, but it’s time we head off.”

“What?” Credence felt aghast. “Already?”

Miss Tina laughed. “Credence, it’s been five hours. The shop’s about to close!”

She leaned in close. “Also, uh, apparently that gnome belongs to the owner, was a gift from his wife. So I think we’d better hurry before he finds out we’ve been kicking it all day!”

“Oh...” Credence’s eyes widened. “Oh my.”

Tina giggled. “Come on.”

She took his hand, and they hurried out of the shop, trying to suppress their laughter.

Outside, once they’d made their way out of the alley, Credence realized it was sunset. The sky was a magnificent blend of oranges and pinks, all coming to swirl around the gold coin of sun, sinking lower and lower past the buildings. Still holding hands, they headed over to the bus station, and when it came they sat down at the front.

“I haven’t been on a bus in so long…” Credence commented, running his hand over the sill. “I almost forgot we had ‘em here.”

Miss Tina chuckled. She put her arm around his shoulder.

“Hmm, I was hoping you and Queenie could get to know to each more,” she told him. “But it’s getting pretty late, huh? I’d better get you back before your friends get home.”

“That’s okay,” Credence replied. “I can see her tomorrow, maybe? Does she work?”

“Yeah, but only in the mornings, usually. She makes coffees for the other staff, mostly official folk and such, but a lot of times she helps out when other gals can’t make it to work. She’s good like that, you know? But anyway, since you’re, uh… since you’re like me, I’m sure you’d be allowed in if you’d like some company. She’s pretty popular with the fellas, but I’m sure she’d love companion during the day.”

“Am I?” Credence asked quietly. “Am I like you?”

He’d never really distributed any magical qualities, not since his manifestation into… the Obscurus, is what Mister Graves had called it. Before then it had been little things, like making a book shift or whipping pencils across the room when he felt upset, but since Abel had found him, since he’d become human again, he hadn’t felt anything. And what Miss Tina had said before, about iron stripping away magic, for all he knew, that’s what had happened to him. For all he knew, he had nothing left.

Miss Tina studied him for a moment, before glancing around the bus. They were speaking quietly, and there weren’t many other passengers aboard, but when she looked back at him she shook her head.

“I’m sorry, sweetie, I’m afraid we can’t really discuss that now,” she whispered. “Not with all the no-maj’s around. But we can talk about it more tomorrow, if you’d like, or if no one’s home yet when I get you back, we can talk there? How does that sound?”

“Hmm…. Yeah, okay,” Credence nodded in agreement. “That sounds okay.”

He took her hand, and leaned on her shoulder for the rest of the trip.

Credence was a little worried when they got off the bus, not having yet familiarized himself with Abel’s neighbourhood, but luckily Miss Tina seemed to know the way, for she took his hand and started to walk.

“Queenie and I lived here before we moved to the tenement, in a little house thataways,” Miss Tina explained, pointing east. “Sometimes I still like to come back and just sit outside the old place. One time the owner came out with a broom to chase me with, but when I explained myself she invited me in to have tea with her son!”

Credence laughed.

“Anyway, that little fella was just… he was the real bee’s knees, told me stories about how he was gonna get rich and save his dad from cotton-picking down south. He told me he was gonna take them all to Africa, where there was no cotton and they could ride giraffes all day.”

Miss Tina wiped at her eyes, having realized they were wet. “I haven’t thought about that in ages,” she mumbled. “That sweet boy, I wonder what he’s up to now? I was only nineteen then, he was eight.”

Miss Tina chuckled. “I hope his dream comes true.”

Credence squeezed her hand, already knowing why. Abel had told him about cotton-picking and slavery down south, how the “owners” would whip the slaves all day until they dropped down dead, never paying them for doing ten man’s work each, underfeeding them and not even giving them a proper place to sleep at night. Abel told him once it got even worse than that, but didn’t explain further, claiming it was far too upsetting for him to speak of.

Credence found himself wondering about it now, about the scars he’d seen many times now on Abel’s back. Abel had told him they’d been from a whip.

Had Abel been a slave?

Could Sara have been one too?

“I hope so too,” he murmured back.

*

They reached the apartment building soon enough. Miss Tina stayed with Credence as they headed inside and began to walk up the stairs, discreetly waving her wand to brighten some of the lamps she found too dim. Once they’d reached the apartment, Credence had a small panic upon realizing he didn’t have a key, but Tina just waved her wand, and the lock opened with a soft “click”.

They grinned at each other.

The apartment was empty when they headed in, so Miss Tina offered to keep him company until his friends returned. Credence prepared hot cocoa and set some blueberry muffins on a blue plate, while Miss Tina put on a jazz record, and then they relaxed together on the little sofa.

Credence curled up against his friend’s side, sipping at his hot drink. Miss Tina put her arm around his shoulder.

“Thanks sweetie,” she smiled at him, referring to her cup. “This is delicious.”

Credence smiled back.

“Miss Tina?” He spoke up once they’d finished their snacks. “May I see some magic again?”

Miss Tina glanced towards the door. “Well, okay. What would you like to see?”

Credence shrugged. He didn’t really know the names of many spells – they were all so complicated. “Could you show me your Patronus again?” He finally asked. “It was so beautiful.”

Miss Tina grinned. “Sure, sweetie.”

She lifted her wand like before, closing her eyes to concentrate, and a moment later the glowing blue bird burst from the tip, soaring around the room. Credence laughed and clapped, watching it in wonder as it came to settle on his lap, before disappearing once again in a flurry of dust.

Credence touched the top of his thigh, where it had rested its head. It had almost felt real.

“What kind of bird is it?” He asked his friend. He knew there were hundreds of different kinds of birds, but he hadn’t familiarized himself with many of them either.

“That was a goose,” Miss Tina told him. “They’re not very common around here, but you can find them pretty much anywhere outside the city. They’re silly birds usually, but Queenie tells me they’re actually quite confident and, and very loyal. She’d know.” Miss Tina chuckled. “Our father bred birds, she’s always loved them.”

Credence nodded. “The Patronus, it’s like… a projection of your soul, right? Mister Graves told me once, that they can be used to fight monsters that steal souls.”

Miss Tina nodded back. “Those monsters are called Dementors, and most of all they thrive on unhappiness. That’s why you have to think of something good to summon the Patronus – the happy thoughts drive them away. Oh, but they’re not only used to fight Dementors. Sometimes they can be used for trivial things, like sending messages, or just for entertainment.”

“Hmm.” Credence smiled. “What did you think of this time?”

Miss Tina lowered her wand. “I thought about my parents.”

“You parents?” Credence cocked his head. “What were they like?”

Miss Tina’s lip twitched. “They were beautiful, the kindest people in the world. Queenie looked up to our father most, but me, I was always my momma’s girl. When I was sick, she would kiss my nose and feed me chicken soup. During thunderstorms, Queenie and I used to hide under the bed, and our father would wrap us up in blankets and tell us funny stories until the storm passed.”

Miss Tina smiled, her eyes shining. “My momma called me ‘pumpkin’, it was her nickname for me.” She laughed.

She reached up, to the old gold locket hanging around her throat. She opened it with a little snap, holding it up for Credence to have a look inside. He recognized the man and woman from the photo in his friend’s room, a young woman with curly hair and kind smile, and a young man with untidy hair and gentle eyes. Looking at Miss Tina now, he could see how much she looked like her father, and how much Miss Queenie resembled their mother.

He set his mug down on the table, and shifted closer to Miss Tina. He took her hand.

“Where are they now?” He asked gently, having noted the past tense. “Are they still alive?”

Miss Tina sniffed, closing the locket. “No, not anymore.” She squeezed his hand. “They died of dragonpox, when Queenie and I were very small. I sort of raised Queenie, you know, cause we didn’t have much family left to take care of us. It was hard, but, we were okay. We’re okay.”

Credence squeezed back. “You’re very brave, Miss Tina.”

She smiled, and lifted his hand to kiss his knuckles. “Thank you, sweetie.”

She patted his hand. “So, you wanted to talk about magic, huh? Do you have any questions for me?”

Credence perked up, remembering their little conversation on the bus. “Oh, yes, um… Miss Tina, are you sure that I’m magic?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I… I could do some stuff, before I became an… an Obscurus.” Credence swallowed at the word. “I could move pencils and paper, even whole books sometimes. One time, Mary Lou was gonna hurt Modesty, and I whipped the belt right out of her hand.”

Miss Tina gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Modesty’s your sister, right sweetie?”

“Was…” Credence said quietly. “I killed her that day. I killed everyone.”

“Credence, that wasn’t your fault, you had no con-“

“I liked it,” he whispered.

Miss Tina stopped.

“When I killed my ma, when I killed that nasty man from the Woolworth building, when I tried to kill Mister Graves, I liked it, Miss. I wanted to do it.”

He buried his head in her shoulder. “Am I a monster?”

“No. No, Credence, you’re not a monster,” she said firmly. “Do you know how I know?”

“How?” Credence asked miserably.

“Because I can tell you feel bad about it.”

Credence looked up.

“Credence, I know what it’s like,” she told him. “When I found your mother hurting you that day, I was so upset, so angry. I lashed out at her, I hurt her, and while I do regret how impulsive that was, I will never regret trying to help you.

“I think that’s what you were trying to do, honey. I think you were trying to stop them hurting you, but it ended up getting out of control. And while what you did was most of all wrong, in the end, you were only trying to protect yourself from them. That doesn’t make you a monster, Credence. I promise you, it doesn’t.”

Credence looked down. “I do regret it,” he mumbled. “Every day I do, even though they weren’t very nice. I wish I could’ve been able to just take Modesty and run, but… you were right, I was out of control. And then… when Mister Graves turned his back on me, it… I…”

Miss Tina squeezed his hand. “I know, sweetie.”

Credence looked up again. “You do?”

She nodded. “We’ve all done things we regret, but that’s the thing sweetie. We regret them. Truly bad people, people like your mother, they don’t regret the horrible things they do. That’s what makes them monsters. We… we are the fighters.”

“Fighters…” Credence repeated the word. It sounded a lot better than “monster”. “We’re fighters.”

He smiled at his friend. She smiled back, and leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

“What about now?” She asked him. “Can you still do anything? Have you ever tried?”

Credence shook his head. “It didn’t really occur to me for a while, but before, when I could do stuff, I could sort of feel it, in here.” He touched his chest. “It was like a little warmth, and it was always there even on cold days. Now… I don’t really feel it anymore.”

“Hmm.” Miss Tina looked thoughtful. “Well, why don’t we try now?”

She smiled at him, and then she held out her wand for him to take!

Credence stared at it. “Huh?”

Miss Tina laughed. “Here.” She slipped the wand through his fingers; he felt a rush of exhilaration.

It felt so strange to be holding it, carefully as he was. He’d never held a real wand before.

“For all we know, you do still have magic inside you,” she told him, her voice gentle. “We could try and find out, if you want.”

“Well, uh…” Credence suddenly felt nervous. “W-what should I do?”

“Hmm.” His friend thought for a moment. “Well… do you know any spells?”

Credence shook his head. As far as he’d seen, all magic was non-verbal, and Percival had never shown him anything written down.

“That’s okay.” Miss Tina put her hand on his knee. “And anyway, magic is far more than just words and waving around an old stick.” She chuckled, and then she lifted her hand to put it over his chest. “Most of all, it’s about what you feel, in here.”

She smiled at him. “So… why don’t you close your eyes, and think of something happy.”

“Something happy?” Credence repeated.

“Yeah.” She took his hand, gave it a little squeeze. “Something happy.”

Credence smiled nervously, taking a little breath. He closed his eyes.

_Happy… happy… something happy, nice, good…_

_Abel._

Credence lifted the wand gently, the way he’d seen Miss Queenie do, and he thought of Abel.

Eyes still closed, he thought about Abel being kind to him, helping him to save himself from the monster he’d become. He thought Abel inviting him into his home without question, and allowing him to stay there. He thought about Abel cooking him meals and letting him sleep in his bed. He thought about Abel never raising his voice at him. He thought about the night Abel had taken the spoon from his hand, only to immediately toss it away. He thought about Abel’s dazzling smile, about the light that danced in his eyes, about his soft hands and warm hugs and tender kisses. He thought about sleeping beside Abel the previous night, arms wrapped around each other, breaths intermingling and sending chills running down Credence’s spine. He thought about waking up beside him, so warm under the covers, about feeling so safe with him there.

He thought about how safe he felt around Abel, around a man he’d known barely two months. He thought about Abel being his friend, his family. He thought about Abel cuddling with him on the couch, about kissing his tears away when he cried, and he did feel something, something igniting in his chest and blazing through his entire being, turning his thoughts into a flurry and sending little chills down his spine.

Credence held the wand a little tighter, trying to concentrate on this feeling. Whatever it was, it made him feel so, so _happy_ – perhaps it _was_ happiness, but no, that didn’t feel quite right. Or… perhaps it was love, but… that didn’t feel quite right either…

Credence kept trying to concentrate, but quite soon he was trying so hard to concentrate that he ended up getting distracted by how hard he was trying to concentrate, and fairly soon, the thoughts of Abel began to recede, and then so did this strange feeling, until finally it had all faded away, and he felt nothing.

Credence opened his eyes. He lowered the wand. He could Miss Tina looking at him out of the corner of his eyes, but he didn’t look back.

“You feeling alright?” She asked him. “You looked a little conflicted there.”

Credence swallowed, looking down. “I’m sorry, Miss,” he mumbled.

“What for?”

Credence fiddled with the hem of his sleeve. “I failed, Miss, didn’t I? Shouldn’t you be angry?”

“What? No…” Miss Tina put her arm around his shoulders. “Credence, we weren’t trying to do anything. We just wanted to see if something would happen. You didn’t fail at anything, sweetie.”

Credence leaned into her touch, relieved. He handed her back her wand. “Thank you Miss.”

She kissed his forehead.

 “What were you thinking about?” She asked a moment later, as she fiddled with his hair. “When you were-“

“Abel,” Credence accidentally cut her off, and he sent her an apologetic look. She didn’t seem to mind, for she immediately quietened, waiting for him to continue.

“I, uh…” he chuckled nervously. “You told me to think about something happy, and… I don’t know, I thought about Abel.”

“Abel, huh?” Miss Tina grinned at him. “Does he make you happy?”

She gave his shoulder a squeeze.

Credence immediately beamed, thinking once again of his dear friend. “Yes, yes he does, Miss! So much, I… I really like him, Miss. I love him. He’s… he’s beautiful.”

He sighed, hiding his face in her shoulder. “He’s so beautiful, and kind, and sweet, and funny, and he’s so nice to me. I’d forgotten there was any kindness left in the world, but he saved me.”

He could hear Miss Tina chuckled. She gave his shoulder a squeeze, pulled him closer to her. She kissed his forehead.

Credence sighed again, relaxing against her.

And it was then that he remembered something, something from earlier that day, something that made his smile falter.

“Miss Tina?”

“Hmm?” She shifted away slightly, enough to look at his face.

“Miss Tina…” Credence swallowed. “When my mother beat me…”

Her face fell. She took his hand. “What is it?”

“You know she used my… my belt. Well, my belt buckle was made of iron…” he trailed off. “And sometimes she used the kitchen utensils, spoons and pans. A lot of them were made of iron too.”

“Oh, Credence…” Miss Tina’s voice was suddenly so soft – she knew exactly what he was saying. “Oh Credence, I’m so sorry.”

Credence looked down. “She took everything, didn’t she?”

“We don’t know that.” She squeezed his hand, her voice back to normal. “You don’t have to give up hope.”

Credence swallowed. “No, It’s… it’s fine, Miss.”

He looked back up at her, managing a smile. “Magic never really did much good for me, anyway. And, I have a home now. I have a family, Miss.” His tone brightened. “Either way, I’m happy now. I’m home.”

Miss Tina smiled at him. She touched his cheek.

“I’m glad." 

*

Abel and Sara arrived home a short while later, just as Credence finished washing the dishes. He practically ran to the door, throwing his arms around his friend.

“Whoa, there!” Abel laughed, immediately returning the embrace. He kissed Credence’s forehead. “Good evening, sweet boy.”

“Good evening,” Credence beamed up at him, for some reason feeling so, so happy to see him again. He felt like it had been days since the morning.

Sara stepped forward, immediately brightening when she noticed their guest. Miss Tina stood up to greet her, and the two of them shared a hug.

Credence stepped back, allowing his friend to walk into the room. When Abel too noticed their guest, his smile slipped just slightly.

“Miss Goldstein,” he greeted her warmly. “Tina. What a pleasure to see you again.”

Miss Tina smiled back at him, her hand on Sara’s shoulder. “And the same to you, Abel. Forgive me, Credence and I spent some time together today, and I offered to wait with him for you to come home. Didn’t want him to be alone, you know?”

“Yes,” Abel nodded stiffly, managing another smile. “Yes, I understand. Thank you… Tina.”

Credence looked up at his friend, confused at his behaviour. Was he okay?

He took Abel’s hand.

Miss Tina smiled awkwardly, walking over to Credence. “I’m sorry, sweetie, I’m gonna have to go now. Can’t have Queenie worrying about me.” She chuckled.

She touched his cheek. “Have a good night, alright? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Credence smiled at her, trying to hide his sadness. Did she really have to leave so soon? “See you tomorrow.”

“Oh, here,” Miss Tina paused to fumble in her pocket. A moment later, she pressed a slip of paper into his hands.

“It’s my phone number, well, it’s the number of the tenement phone,” she explained. “If you ever need anything, just ask to talk to me, or Queenie if you want to pass on a message, okay?”

“Okay…” Credence stared at the little paper, holding it tightly. He’d never lose it.

“Okay.” Miss Tina beamed at him. “Well, goodbye Credence.”

Credence looked down. “Goodbye, Miss.”

She kissed his cheek, waved to Abel and Sara, and a moment later she was gone. Credence watched the door as it closed behind her, dismayed. He… he was hoping they could've all had tea.

He slipped the paper into his pocket.

Abel put an arm around his shoulder, leading him away from the door. “Sweet boy, how was your day? Are you hungry?”

“Oh, it was wonderful!” Credence smiled at his friend, leaning into his embrace. “Miss Tina took me to meet her sister Queenie, and we went to see a picture, and then after lunch we went to a… a wonderful bookshop, and she’s really nice, Abel. She’s really kind to me. And Miss Queenie bought me sweets!” Credence giggled. “Oh, um, we had some tea and muffins before you came, but… I wouldn’t mind having dinner.”

Credence wasn’t really all that hungry; he’d eaten like a king today! But he decided he wouldn’t mind a small sandwich, or some leftovers from their feast the previous night, if it would make Abel happy.

“Okay,” Abel smiled at him. “Well, we’ve still got plenty of food from last night. Why don’t we heat up some of that stew, huh? Or some beef roll? What was that called?”

“Rouladen,” Credence remembered. “Yeah, that sounds good. What do you think, Sara?”

He turned to his friend, who had been furiously scribbling in her notebook all the while. She glanced up, smiled at them, and nodded before returning to her scribbling.

Credence grinned at her.

“Oh, Abel!” He suddenly remembered Beatrice’s request. “Miss Beatrice, she told me this morning it was gonna be a busy day for her. She asked to tell you she won’t be long home.”

Abel smiled at him, giving his hand a squeeze. “Thank you, Credence.”

He gestured to the kitchen doorway. “Shall we?”

*

Beatrice didn’t return all through dinner, nor did she return after. Sara sat on the little sofa and watched the door for a good while, tapping her fingers against the arm in time to the music playing from the record.

After a while, she decided to pass the time by doing some reading. The plan didn’t exactly work, as she was still glancing up from her book ever five to ten seconds, so after another while she just moved to the kitchen and sat down with her back to the doorway, and kept reading there.

She was being ridiculous, she knew. Beatrice was a grown woman, and she could stay out as long as she liked. She didn’t need Sara worrying after her like a fussy mother duck. She could take care of herself.

But Sara couldn’t help but worry. The last time Beatrice had stayed out so late, she had ended up not returning for nearly a month! She couldn’t, at least, leave a little note behind, or call the office downstairs, let them all know where she was?

As if on cue, it was then that someone knocked on the front door.

Sara almost fell over jumping up from her chair, but she walked calmly over to the door. Most of the other tenants already thought she was a lunatic. She didn’t need to act like one too.

Her guest was a young boy, one she knew lived only three doors down from her – Lionel, his name was. She also knew he was one of the people who delivered messages to people in the building, telephone messages, from downstairs.

He looked a little nervous. “Miss, uh… Miss Saltine?”

She nodded mutely.

Lionel swallowed. “Good evening, Miss. We have a call for you downstairs, from your friend… Beatrice? She sounds pretty distressed, so, uh…”

He didn’t need to say another word; Sara was already rushing down the hall.

*

While all this was going on, down the hall in the bathroom, Abel was teaching Credence how to shave.

None of the apartments in the building had their own bathroom; rather, on each floor at opposite ends, there were separate bathrooms for men and women. And downstairs, in the basement, there was a room for doing washing, and out the back there was a section for women to hang up their laundry to dry.

Abel filled the basin with warm water, while Credence dolloped shaving cream onto his cheeks. Mary Lou had never used cream – said it was self-indulgent. He liked how it felt on his skin, cold and soft and sending little chills down his spine.

“Now, be careful with these, my dear.” Abel handed him a pair of shaving blades, placing them gently in his palm. “They’re quite sharp.”

Credence held them carefully, feeling a bit scared. “Abel, I don’t know how to do this – what if I hurt myself or-“

“Shhh…” Abel put a hand on his shoulder, smiling kindly. “I’ll be right here, I’m gonna be doing it with you. It’s really very easy.”

Credence looked down at the blades. When Mary Lou had shaved him, many times had she nicked him on purpose, telling him the pain was God’s punishment for his filth. Ridiculous, he thought now. Absolutely ridiculous.

But, since it was him doing it, not her, then perhaps things would be okay? He didn’t want to hurt himself, he knew he would careful. Before he knew it, surely it would be over.

Abel had already put on some cream by now, and he too had a pair of blades in his hand. Slowly, showing off every movement to Credence, he directed him in which way he had to shave (cheek to chin), how much pressure to put on the blade, how to properly wash each blade free of hair. Abel helped him with the difficult bits, such as below his chin and just underneath his ears, but he assured Credence that with a little practice, he’d be able to do it all on his own.

And then before he knew it, it was over, and Abel was refilling the basin for him to wash off the excess cream.

“So, how was it?” Abel asked, as he began to put away the blades and cream; Credence patted his face dry with a small towel.

“It was quite easy!” Credence replied, voice a little muffled. He removed the towel, beaming. “Thank you so much, Abel.”

Abel stared at him, his mouth dropping open slightly.

Credence frowned. “What is it?”

Abel blinked twice; he licked his lips. “Oh, apologies, my dear, it’s just…”

He touched Credence’s cheek, stepping a little closer.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured.

Credence flushed. “Oh, I... um…”

“You do,” Abel smiled at him, a funny expression on his face. It looked a little familiar, but Credence couldn’t exactly place where he’d seen it before. “You’re beautiful, Credence.”

Credence flushed harder, smiling shyly at the floor. “Thank you,” he said quietly, looking back up at his friend.

He took Abel’s hand, and now it was him that was stepping forward, until their chests were touching. He wrapped his arms around Abel, and leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

He didn’t know why he was suddenly being so intimate – all they’d done was shave, but… he just wanted to. He liked being intimate; holding hands, cuddling, kissing – and with Abel it all just felt so natural. Sometimes he wondered if Abel was right, that fate had brought them together, that perhaps they had been made to find each other.

He kissed Abel again, and smiled, and Abel smiled back at him, but it seemed a little forced.

Credence frowned. “Abel? Is everything alright?”

“Oh, uh-um...” Abel stuttered slightly, avoiding Credence’s eyes.

Credence gasped a little then, remembering his friend’s discomfort with too much contact, and he began to pull away. “Oh, forgive me Abel, I didn’t mean-“

“No, wait!” Abel grasped his hands, keeping him where he was. “No, please, sorry Credence, I… I…”

He touched Credence’s cheek. “Credence… I…"

Credence touched Abel’s cheek, gently encouraging him to continue. “Yes?”

“I…” Abel sighed then, looking defeated. He studied Credence for a moment more, his eyes never leaving Credence’s own, and after a moment, he took a breath as if to speak again, but then he closed his mouth, and looked away.

Credence frowned. What was it he wanted to say?

He cleared his throat then, dropping his hand from Credence’s cheek. “Apologies,” he mumbled. “Just ignore me, my boy.”

He stepped away from Credence, his other hand slipping from Credence’s waist. Credence immediately stepped forward, confused as well saddened at the sudden loss of contact.

Was his friend okay? What was it he’d been trying to say?

“Come on, my dear,” Abel looked back at him, grinning as though nothing had ever happened. “We’d better get back home, I’m sure Sara’s wondering what’s taking us so long.”

“Abel.” Credence was concerned.

“Hmm?” Abel smiled at him.

“Abel,” Credence stepped forward, reaching out to touch Abel’s arm. “Abel, you… you can tell me anything, you know? You’re my friend, you _saved_ me. I could never be mad at you.”

Abel swallowed, but then he managed another smile. “Thank you, sweet boy.”

He leaned forward, kissed Credence’s cheek. Credence smiled.

Abel patted his hand. “We should head back though. I remember you and I have some things to talk about, and…” he looked around. “I’d rather not discuss them here.”

Credence looked around too. The bathroom was empty at the moment, save for them, but anyone could walk in, at any given moment. He was sure neither of them wanted a stranger listening in on their conversation.

“Okay,” Credence nodded in agreement. He took Abel’s hand, gave it a squeeze. “Alright, that sounds good.”

*

Sara was in the living room, reading, when they returned. As they stepped through the door, she stood up and walked over to them, and handed Abel a note.

_Beatrice called. She’s not coming home tonight. I’m going to bed._

Abel frowned, looking back up at his friend. “Are you alright?”

She gave him a grim smile, before shrugging her shoulders. She turned to Credence, pulling out her notebook again.

_You look nice, honey. Goodnight._

“Thank you,” Credence smiled at her. “Goodnight Sara.”

She kissed them both on the cheek, and then she turned and walked away, almost immediately disappearing into her room.

Credence turned to Abel. “Do you think she’s okay?”

Abel hesitated for a moment, before nodding. “I think so, yes. If anything was really wrong, she’d tell me. She always does.”

He didn’t seem very confident in his words, but Credence just nodded along. “Okay.”

Abel tightened his lips, glancing up at the kitchen doorway. Through it, from this angle, they could just see Sara’s bedroom door.

Credence took Abel’s hand, gave it a little squeeze. A moment later, Abel squeezed back.

*

The two of them decided to head to bed a short while later, despite it still being rather early. Once clad in their pyjamas, Credence slipped into bed while Abel turned off the lights, and then soon they were both underneath the covers, their arms wrapped around each other.

“So, um…” Abel began quietly, his hand slipping into Credence’s. “Would you like to go first… or should I?”

Credence’s gaze drifted to Abel’s lips; he thought for a moment. “Would it be alright if, if you went first? But, only if you want to, of course.”

Abel swallowed. He squeezed Credence’s hand. “Yeah, that’s alright. If, uh, if you need me to stop, you tell me, okay?”

He looked very serious. Credence nodded, and squeezed his hand in return. “I will.”

Abel swallowed again. “Credence, I… I was a slave.”

Credence exhaled deeply, taking in the information. He nodded. “I… I’d had a feeling.”

“You did?” Abel licked his lips. Credence’s eyes tracked the movement. “Sweet boy…”

He held on tighter to Credence’s hand.

“It was down south, down in one of those cotton fields. I worked, well… I was made to work there, picking cotton for those rich white bastards. All day long, they would sit in their big ol’ house, getting fatter and pinker by the day, and all we’d ever get is the scrap from their plates.”

Credence frowned. He’d never heard Abel speak like this before, never heard such anger in his voice.

“All day long, I was out in those fields, harvesting cotton from the break of dawn to well after dark. We were all men, all black, all starved beyond belief. Most of the others there had been there their whole lives, didn’t know a thing outside the fields. None of us knew anything but the fields, that’s all we’d been taught. Just cotton, and sunshine, and rain, and… and the whip.”

Credence shifted closer to his friend.

“All day long, those bastard would whip us silly, if we didn’t comply, if we worked too slow, if we worked too fast, if we looked the boss in the eye, if we didn’t look him in the eye, any reason they could find. If we misbehaved, we had to bend down and kiss the boss’ feet and beg for forgiveness. He’d kick us on our back, spouting garbage that he was doing the lord’s work. He told us that God above despised us all, despised all niggers, and that the pain of the whip was God’s punishment for the mistake he made by created us, and that we deserved nothing less than it. And a lot of us… a lot of us believed it. We didn’t know anything else.”

Abel looked down. “At night, we all slept on disgusting old rags in this tin-shed out in the field. In summer we’d get snakes and spiders. In winter we’d get rats and other vermin. Some nights the pain got so bad a lot of us just passed clean away.”

Abel blinked twice, his eyes shining. “One time, I had a friend. His name was, well… none of us had names, but I called him Reggie, after one of the names I’d seen on the boss’ mail. Reggie was a slave too, and he… he was like a rose, a fine and beautiful flower blooming out of the cotton. He was the one good thing I had. We would work side by side during the day, held each other at night before we fell asleep. In the tall fields, where the boss couldn’t see us, sometimes we would lie together, finding just a little peace in our nightmare of a world.

“Then one day, that foul dog of the boss’ daughter accused him of stealing her jewellery. She stormed into the barn and pulled his mat away, and there were rings and necklaces and little gold brooch. I knew she’d done it, we all knew she’d done it, but the boss was there, and he ordered Reggie to be strung up and whipped like…” Abel swallowed. Credence took his hand. “L-like we’d n-never seen before. He’d been sick all through winter, he was so weak, when they finally loosened his ties and kicked him back to the rest of the us, it was only an hour later that he died in my arms.

“Some of the other men, they knew how I’d felt about him, knew how important it was to me that he received a proper burial.” Abel swallowed. “All night, we worked as fast as we could, digging a proper grave. We didn’t have a casket, and the only flowers that grew in the place were in the mistress’ garden. I risked it, picked him a good bouquet of red and white roses, and it was me that… that finally laid him down to rest.

“A lot of us fellas didn’t know how to talk, but Old Brown, the oldest of them all, could remember songs his mother had sung to him when he was a boy. We joined hands, and those of us who did know how to speak sang along with Old Brown. And Reggie, he had a sister there. She was a year older than us two, worked in the big house, as a handmaid to the mistress herself. Before he died, he asked me to take care of her. I promised I would.”

“Sara…” Credence realized. “That was Sara?”

Abel nodded.

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door, and then Sara herself was entering the room.

The lamp by the bed was still turned on, so they could see each quite clearly. Sara gazed at them both for a moment, before stepping forward. Credence and Abel immediately shifted over, allowing Sara to slip under the blankets beside them. The bed was small, but they managed to make to make it work, holding tightly onto one another so no one would fall.

“Sara,” Abel said quietly. “Credence and I have been talking about my past, our past. We had just finished speaking of… of Reggie, and had just begun to speak about you.”

Sara breathed deeply at the sound of her brother’s name. She raised her eyebrows at Abel, looking questioning.

“May we continue, with your permission?” Abel continued. “Or would you prefer I not talk about you altogether?”

Sara looked thoughtful for a moment, before raising one finger. First option; Abel could continue.

Abel nodded at her, and kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”

He turned back to Credence, his arm still around Sara. Credence reached over him to touch Sara’s shoulder.

“So… Sara never made it to the funeral. Since she worked in the house, she slept in the servants’ quarters, and that was locked up from the outside every night. She and I had met before, on several occasions, and I knew that she and Reggie sent messages to each other as often as they could, putting little notes in a crack in the bricks outside her window. I sent her one asking her to meet me early morning outside the shed, as soon as she could. It took three days for her to have the chance, and by then she’d already learned of her brother’s murder. We only had ten, fifteen minutes with each other before she’d be missed, but we spent the entirety of it in each other’s arms.”

Sara lifted her arm to put around Abel’s waist. She tucked her head against Abel’s shoulder.

“We made a pact, that day, that… we’d do our best to protect each other, and that one day we’d leave this horrible place behind. And one day, we found the chance.”

Abel’s tone changed then; he sounded a little lighter, more like his usual self. Credence touched his cheek.

“The boss made deliveries upstate at the end of every harvest, and every now and then he and the mistress went along with them. Sara, being the mistress’ handmaid, always went along with the two of them, and the boss had some of us the slaves accompany them to sort out all the work at each stop. A few years after Reggie’s death, I was finally picked for their next trip. At one of the stops, the boss and mistress left to have tea in a nearby café, and they locked us up in the truck so we wouldn’t run. There were two others in the truck with us, and one of them, number 43, he was one of the strongest of us all. He kicked the door down, and together we all ran like mad. We didn’t know where to go, didn’t know what we were really doing – we were just following this… this urge hidden deep within our souls, the urge to be free.

“I was the smallest of us, the weakest-boned. The other two ran ahead, but I don’t blame them. If I was in their place, I probably would’ve done the same.

“Sara stayed with me, of course. She helped me walk when I felt about to drop, as long as she could before she too became exhausted, and then we hid inside this big sewer pipe. It had grown dark by then, but we couldn’t sleep. We stayed awake for hours, huddled in each other’s arms, waiting for the boss to find us and whip us dead. But he didn’t find us, all night we stayed up and he never came. We… we were free.”

Abel smiled, just a little. Credence squeezed his hand. “We were free.”

He cleared his throat. “Sara let me sleep first, while she took watch, and then she slept while I took watch. Once we’d gained a little strength back, we kept walking, for hours and hours we did, following the rail-tracks. Sara thought, if we could get aboard a train, we’d be safer still, so far away from those cracker bastards. We’d never had to fear them again.

“We didn’t have a cent between the two of us, but Sara knew how to be sneaky. A few stations down the line, we finally managed to get on board a long train, one of those real fancy ones with full cars just for luggage. We hid in one of those, behind a few folded up screens tucked at the back, and stayed put the entire journey. Once again, we slept in shifts, and sometimes Sara would poke around some of the people’s possessions. It was a fancy train, full of lots real fancy people no doubt, so Sara pocketed a lot of money. She also found some cloths to scrub our faces, and a pair of shoes for me to wear – I’d had no shoes the whole time. One trunk was full of children’s clothes, so she picked out some new things for the both of us to wear, so we could blend in with anyone else leaving the train.

“Sara knew it would take a while for the passenger doors to get unlocked, so the moment she felt the train stop, we slipped out the back and ran for our lives. Some officials saw us, and they stopped us, and I thought it would be the end, but then Sara, god bless your heart, my dear,” he paused for a moment to kiss Sara’s cheek. “She told them we were running from a scary man who had tried to hurt her, who had touched her on the train and threatened to kill her if she didn’t do what he asked her. She pointed out a random old man exiting the train, and those officials took off like a hotshot after him. I was too stunned to move for a moment, amazed at her quick thinking – not even the smartest of us in the fields could have pulled that off the way she did."

“And then we were free, and we were in New York City. We had enough money to keep us going for a little while, as well as jewellery Sara had stuffed our pockets with, to sell if we found the need. I don’t know how she did it, how she knew what to do to survive, but she did.” Abel paused again, to kiss Sara again. She kissed him back. “My angel,” he murmured proudly. “Our savior. She saved the both of us, Credence. She saved our lives.”

“It was short-lived, of course. No matter how much money it felt at the time, it eventually ran out, and we still had nowhere to live. We were on the streets all day, all night. We had no job to get money. There were other people like us, without homes. They were mean, they scared us both. They taunted us for our fine clothes, not knowing they were stolen to keep us from being arrested. They threatened to do horrible things to Sara. We ran out of food one day, we started to starve. For a while…” Abel sighed. “It seemed like we’d left one hell only to find another.

“But then… then Beatrice found us.”

Abel smiled. “Sara was in a shop one day, I was waiting outside on a bench, trying to catch my breath. I was the weakest of us two, and I grew exhausted so easily. Sara had done some pickpocketing early that morning, so she was buying us something to eat. While I was waiting for her to return, a finely dressed lady sat beside me. She wouldn’t stop looking at me, her blue eyes wide as saucers, and when Sara finally came back her eyes only grew wider.

“She called me Abel, Abraham Fried, and she gave Sara her name too. We’d never had names before, not really. To the boss I was number 73, and to the mistress Sara was just “girl”. I don’t even know where she came up with it, it was like she’d already known us, before we’d even met each other.”

She had, Credence thought then, recalling what Beatrice had told him of her friend’s vision.

“She told us her name was Beatrice Kramer, and that she’d been waiting to meet us a very long time. She asked us to come with her, said that she was going to take us home."

Abel chuckled. “Well, Sara and I were afraid of course. What if it was a trick, that she was trying to kidnap us and put us through even more hell? What if she was a slave owner herself?

“So we ran, and she didn’t even try to stop us, but we were both still curious of her intentions. For a few weeks, we spied on her, tailing her through the city. We thought, if she really wants to help us, then we’d best make sure her intentions were true. We’d been on the streets so long, you see. We were both starving, I was growing sick. It… it wouldn’t hurt to have a friend in the city.”

She had a fairly simple life, from what we discovered. Most days, she worked in the tower that’s now become the Woolworth Building, and at night she stayed in a Jewish monastery just a few streets down. Some days we saw her with friends, some days we didn’t see her at all, but in the end, it was Sara who decided that, that perhaps it would be worth it to give her a chance.

“And it was. She was so pleased to see us again, she held us both so tightly for a very long time. She took Sara’s hand, and Sara took mine, and she led us back to the monastery. Now, to live there, we had to be Jewish, and that did take a little while to sort out, but several weeks later, we officially became Abraham Fried and Sara Saltine. We had new lives, we had a friend, and we had a home.

“Of course, we were still traumatized by our past lives. Both Sara and I were often plagued by horrible nightmares, we didn’t know to eat properly, how to talk properly. We were afraid to ask for the lavatory even, for fear of being whipped for it. We would walk the halls in states of fear and anxiety, worrying that at any moment an enemy could appear and try to hurt us. The fine house, it reminded Sara so much of the fine house back down south. Sometimes we would both just crawl under the beds, or coop up in the closets, and stay there in states of terror. We were so afraid that it was all too good to be true.

“And one day we were proven right.”

Abel stopped then, sitting up completely.  Sara and Credence looked up at him curiously.

“Before we continue, why don’t I prepare some tea?” He suggested. “I don’t think any of us are going to sleep very soon, and my throat is starting to feel a little sore.”

They both nodded.

A little while later, they were all seated at the little dining table, draped in blankets and clutching cups of hot tea. A plate of blueberry muffins sat between them. Sara nibbled at one quietly.

“One day, the owner of the building passed away. He was a lovely, kind man, but Sara and I had never given anyone there the chance to get too close to us, not even Beatrice. It was a pity, we realized. We should’ve taken the chance when we had it.”

“What do you mean?” Credence asked. “What happened?”

“The woman who took his place, his cousin, she was Jewish as well. Orthodox, like Bea’s parents back in Germany. Now, Orthodox is a stricter form of Judaism, but this woman, she… she took it too far. The moment she spied us at the table, she demanded we be thrown from the building.”

Credence frowned. “But… but why?”

“Because we were black,” Abel said solemnly. “Because we didn’t fit her idea of the perfect Jewish mold of fair skin and curly dark hair, like Beatrice and pretty much everyone else in the building did. To her, we were filth and shouldn’t be allowed there, but to Beatrice and most everyone else we were just as much a part of the monastery as them. They didn’t know us very well, we hadn’t allowed them to, and seeing them so quick to defend us, it was so strange. We’d never experienced something like that before, to have so many people on our side. Sara and I regretted not opening up to these people sooner, after finding out how trustworthy and supportive they all were of us, and from on then we weren’t so hesitant to try and make friends.

“It was alright, for a while, even with that woman in charge. We knew she didn’t like us one little bit, but as long as we could avoid her, we decided everything was fine. We made friends soon enough, so we were happy.

“But then… then that woman started to hurt us. If she couldn’t push us out herself, she was going to make us do it on our own. She’d find us alone and beat us both, with spoons, pans, crops, anything. She’d lock Sara up into tiny closets and leave her there all day. She’d heat up the iron tongs until they were scalding and brand bits of our flesh, she... Credence, have you noticed the way Sara walks?”

Credence (now very pale), frowned, confused. “Um, y-yes, yes I have,” he mumbled glancing at Sara. “Kind of… stiffly.”

Abel looked down. “Well, it’s because of what that woman did to her, that she walks that way. She would take more iron rods and… she broke Sara’s leg at one point, and it never had the chance to heal properly. The woman told the doctor she’d fallen down the stairs, and Sara agreed. She knew that if she told the truth, that woman would never allow her to return from the hospital, and we might never see each other again. And we debated, for a very long time, to run away, but we didn’t want that woman to win. We couldn’t tell the police; we’d seen her have tea with them. We knew they’d never believe two little niggers like us.”

Abel’s tone turned bitter. “That’s all we were to her, all we’d ever been to anyone. Just a pair of stupid niggers, with nowhere to belong but in the streets or under slavery. And we were fed up of it, absolutely fed up, and one day we decided it was time to take matters into our own hands.”

“What did you do?” Credence asked, his voice trembling a little with shock. He reached over to grasp Sara’s hand.

“Well, we didn’t really know what we could do. We didn’t want to be like her, like anyone that had hurt us in the past. We weren’t those kinda people, but we were still so angry. We knew something had to be done to stop her, we just didn’t know what it was.

“But Beatrice did. One day, she found the scars from those hot tongs, while she was helping Sara get dressed in the morning. She was so furious, she… I don’t know what she did exactly, but…” Abel’s brow twitched. “She put that woman in the hospital."

Credence almost spilled his tea.

“Beatrice decided immediately after to get us out the building, thinking that it would be best if it were just the three of us. Sara and I spent the next few weeks in a bit of a daze, still unable to believe what had happened, that something had been done to stop that woman so soon. For so long, we’d depended on ourselves alone for survival, even when living in the monastery. But Beatrice, she’d not only saved us from the streets, she’d possibly even saved our very lives.

“But that woman, she still ruined so much. In the monastery, we had been making a little progress. Seeing all those people stand up for us invoked trust we never knew we had, but when she started to hurt us the way she did, it destroyed everything. She was doing it right under those people’s noses, and no one had ever seemed to notice. Perhaps they had, but really they didn’t care about us at all.”

Credence swallowed. This all sounded so familiar.

“Sara has since then been unable to trust as freely as she once did, and I… I wouldn’t let anyone touch me for a long time. Not even Sara. Not even Beatrice. It’s been that ever since, until… until you, Credence.”

Abel took his hand; he managed a smile. Credence smiled comfortingly back.

“It’s been almost ten years since we escaped the cotton fields, around six years since we started living here in this apartment, but… I remember it all so well, how that whip felt against my back, how Reggie’s eyes closed that last time, how the freezing wind bit my cheeks those nights on the streets in the city, the terrible ice-burn of those scalding tongs against my flesh. Try as I might, I can’t forget it, and these scars of mine… they’ve never gone away.”

He was crying. Credence was crying too.

“Abel.” Credence’s hand slipped from Sara’s as he took his friend into his arms. “Abel.”

“Credence…” Abel immediately relaxed against him, tightly returning the embrace.

“Abel.” Credence kissed his friend gently, again and again, the tears on his cheeks mingling with the tears on Abel’s own cheeks. “Oh Abel, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m alright,” Abel murmured between kisses. “My dear, I promise I’m alright now. With you here… I’ve never been happier.”

Credence smiled into the next kiss.

“I’m glad.”

*

The next morning, Credence woke up alone.

He patted the bedsheets next to him in confusion, eyes still closed with sleep, murmuring Abel’s name. When he opened his eyes, he realized the bed beside him was empty, and that the clock on the nightstand read half past nine.

Credence hummed. The three of them had fallen asleep quite late last night, and even when he and Abel had finally gone to bed, Credence had stayed awake a long time, arms wrapped around his dear friend’s sleeping form, pressing gentle kisses along his brow.

Still, he’d never imagined he could sleep as late as this. He couldn’t remember having ever done so before.

He stayed under the sheets for a while, holding Abel’s pillow close to his chest, breathing in the faint rosy scent of him. He almost fell asleep again, until his stomach began to rumble.

Eventually, cozy though he was, he decided to go make some breakfast.

When he walked into the kitchen, he almost had a heart attack, barely suppressing a yelp of surprise. He quickly calmed himself when he realized it was only Beatrice.

But as he walked closer, a greeting on his lips, his expression turned concerned.

It was only Beatrice, yes, but it was Beatrice hunched over in her chair, hands pressed to her forehead as if in stress. It was Beatrice with her hair unkempt, shoulders quivering with appeared to be sobs, tears rolling down her cheeks and dripping down onto the tabletop. And when she lifted her head to look at them, it was Beatrice with red-rimmed eyes and creased brows and lips so chewed upon they appeared to be bleeding.

“Miss Beatrice,” Credence stepped forward, worried. “Miss Beatrice, what’s wrong?”

And Beatrice _whimpered_.

Credence stepped, shocked beyond belief. He’d never seen her like this – so _small_ , so _timid_ , and _crying_ even. Had the world fallen to its knees?

No, this was no time to joke. Beatrice was obviously very distressed, enough so to display such emotion so openly. For all he knew, she needed his help.

He sat down opposite her, trying to look as confident as she always did. She’d helped him so much by being logical and reassured. Perhaps it would help her for him to act the same.

“Miss Beatrice?” He began smoothly. “Are you alright?”

A few moments passed silently, but then, with a sigh, Beatrice looked up, to meet Credence’s concerned gaze.

She looked tormented, positively despaired. She looked like she’d experienced pain like no other, like she’d been hurt by someone very close to her. Credence knew all this, because he’d seen the very same expression far too many times to count, in shop windows and rain-puddles in the streets, in the dusty old mirrors in the bathroom at the church.

“Who did this to you?” He whispered. Her eyes widened. “Miss Beatrice, who hurt you in this way?”

“Credence…"

Her voice was the softest he’d ever heard it. She cleared her throat, and spoke again.

“Credence, there’s something I have to tell you.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens y'all

Beatrice Kramer had thought she’d seen it all.

As a small girl in Germany, she’d been viciously bullied by the other children. They would surround her when she walked alone, blocking her way, taunting her for her religion and demonizing her for her magic. All too well, she could remember their twisted, ugly faces, eyes filled with hatred, spittle flying from their mouths as they screamed and kicked and burned her, even. And all too well could she remember the cold, apathetic faces of their parents, full-grown adults who would usher their children aside only to spit her in the face.

When the war began, she had been forced to see the faces of her parents for the last time, drifting farther and farther away as she drifted farther and away into the ocean, until finally the morning's fog obscured their faces entirely. And as the war endured, she’d had to walk through unfamiliar streets alone, streets crowded with the wounded and dying. She’d seen men and women alike die before her eyes. She’d barely escaped multiple incidents explosions and gunfire. She’d seen children reduced to poverty due to family lost in the war. One man had taken his life before her very eyes, rather than die the way his brother had on the shores of Gallipoli. Other men would often approach her with knives and guns of their own, refusing to let her pass until she gave herself up as a German spy. One evening, her kindly neighbour, the man who had befriended her upon her first week in the country and helped her to find a place to live, had left his house dressed for battle and never come home.

By the end of the war, she’d found a job, and not only that but she’d thought she’d found her true love. And in the end, she’d had to stand by and watch as her true love fell in love with her best friend, and then she’d had to stand by and watch as her true love died, mere months after their wedding. And she’d had to see the light in her best friend’s eyes quickly die along with her.

That horrible night, Beatrice had come home late only to see Sara’s chair empty. She’d had to see Abel’s teary eyes and quivering bottom lip as he lay helpless in bed, plagued by cold and sick with worry for their dear friend. And when the front door had finally swung open, she’d had to see muddy feet and torn clothes, blood running down bare thighs and staining what was left of Sara’s dress. She’d had to see bruised, lifeless eyes and dirty, tear-stained cheeks, cut lip hanging open and swollen, gaze blank as she crossed the threshold into Beatrice’s trembling arms. And later, fighting unconsciousness and the bile quickly rising in her throat, she’d had to see the worst of it as she cared for Sara in the bathroom, removing her matted clothes to reveal cuts and bruises and wounds over every inch of her skin, shards of glass stuck in places Beatrice had been unable to remove without first having to vomit into the sink.

She’d seen what Gellert Grindelwald had done to her oldest and dearest friend. The day they’d finally found him, finally been able to rescue him and bring him home, she thought for sure she’d found his corpse. And she’d thought, despite what horrors she’d had to endure her entire life, despite the pain she’d experienced and the pain she’d seen inflicted upon those she loved, certainly none of it compared to how she felt as she looked down upon his protruding bones and milky stare, upon the countless scars and bruises and welts marring every inch of his deathly pale skin. She’d thought then that nothing in the world could have been worse.

Oh, but how wrong she’d been.

For as she began finally to speak in a rush, explaining the truth to Percival, the truth about Credence, the way his face changed with each and every word almost caused her to wish she had never spoken at all. He had been crying as she’d entered, biting into too-short nails to muffle his sobs, and as she began her story, his sadness had eventually given way to confusion, and then to disbelief, and then to clarity, and then to desperate disbelief that what she was saying was false, and then to rage as he accepted her words to be truth, that she had spent the last few weeks lying to him about his true love, watching him suffer day after day in mourning for the young man he’d loved like no other, only to have been hiding the very young man in her apartment away from him all the while. The rage, the anger, the bare hatred in his eyes as he stared unforgivingly up at her, it had all been bad enough, horrible enough to reduce her to tears even as she kept speaking. But as his expression switched finally to complete and utter misery, she’d realized then the full extent of what she’d done.

She’d not only betrayed his trust, but she’d broken his heart with her lies, and as she looked into his eyes she knew he would never forgive her, and that it would haunt her for the rest of her days.

He’d named her first. The day he learned he was going to be moved to the house he now stayed in, he’d named her to be the one to care for him. After all that time in Grindelwald’s case, after the torture he’d faced and the tricks his own mind had placed on him, even in his state of trauma, he’d trusted her still.

And she’d betrayed him.

She’d thought she’d failed him that day. Upon seeing what she’d thought to be his corpse in the chair, she thought she’d destroyed the pact they'd made in the days receding Lily’s death, a promise that they would stay by each other’s sides through thick and thin, to protect each other, to fight for each other and for those they loved with their lives, that never again would they have to see the ones they loved leave too soon.

She hadn’t failed him then. She’d found him in time. Because of her, he’d been saved. Because of her, he’d finally come home.

But she’d failed him now.

And even if he did one day forgive her for it, she knew she could never forgive herself.

And the next morning, she’d had to face it all over again.

*

“Miss Beatrice?”

As Alma had predicted the previous night, it was indeed Credence to wake up last in the morning, to find her sitting at the table in her sorrowful state. And thank heavens for it, she had thought then, for even though she had been crying most of the previous afternoon and night, she found herself still unable to contain her misery. She didn’t want Abel or Sara to see her like this, not when there was no way for her to explain her sorrow. She was glad they had already left.

“Miss Beatrice, what’s wrong?”

Beatrice whimpered.

When she'd first met him, the night after Abel had brought him home, she had been afraid of him, or rather, of what he could become. After what Tina had told her, what Percival had confided in her, this was a broken, abused boy that Abel had let into her household, a boy who had known naught but misery his whole life. That had not been much of a problem. She had dealt with abuse before, with the sort of pain clearly written across the boy’s frightened face. The problem was that she'd known what he could become, what exactly was inside him that at any given moment could destroy them all.

And she had been afraid.

After the pain he had endured, the heartbreak, the broken trust, she had expected him to be bitter. She had expected him to be angry, to be distant and distrustful. But Credence, whether or not he realized it, was actually the most optimistic person she had ever met. He had trusted Abel immediately that night, and in turn had quickly grown to trust and like all of them. And he was so good to them, so polite, so kind to Sara. The shell she’d been in for so long, Credence was slowly helping her to draw out.

And he trusted Beatrice. He trusted her, and not only that but he liked her. He saw her as a friend, as family, even.

And she was about to betray his trust.

“Credence…”

She was about to break his heart.

“Credence… there’s something I have to tell you.”

*

She had debated it, long and hard, just as she had debated telling Percival the truth. She had thought then that not telling them was for their own good, that they needed the chance to heal, away from what Grindelwald had done to them.

But now, she knew that if she continued to lie, it would be for selfish reasons, and selfish reasons alone.

She felt she had lost her friend yesterday.

Her oldest and dearest friend, the man she had stuck by through thick and thin, the man she loved with all her heart, the man she promised to fight for, to protect, she had betrayed his trust in the worst way possible. She had lied to him for weeks, seen him suffer and remained silent, and now she had lost him. And now, quite possibly, could she lose another.

But this time she was prepared.

And so she spoke. And so, the minute Abel and Sara had left, she told Credence the truth.

And in fact, she wasn’t prepared at all.

As she spoke, the confusion that flickered across Credence’s face was the same. And as she continued to speak, the disbelief was the same, and then the clarity, and then desperate disbelief that what she was telling him was false, it was all the same.

But where she had expected rage, she found misery. Where she had expected anger, she found disappointment. Where there had been hatred in Percival’s eyes, cold unforgiving hatred at her words and what she had done, Credence’s eyes held a deep and unforgiving sorrow, that and the heartbreaking loneliness she had seen in him the first time they’d met.

And she knew he would never forgive her either.

Credence had been living with them for quite a while now, but in all this time she had barely gotten to know him. She had been too skeptical to approach him, to allow him to approach her without company present. Only recently had she begun to open up to him, to allow him to befriend her.

And he’d already seen her as a friend. Distant as she was, he’d already liked her, enough to consider her family.

And now she’d broken his heart. Just as she’d broken Percival’s heart.

And nothing on Earth could’ve been worse.

“You’re telling the truth,” he mumbled. He sounded broken, defeated. His voice was so quiet.

She looked down. “Yes.”

Her voice sounded just the same.

Credence stood up from the table, his chair scraping against the linoleum floor uncomfortably. He began to leave the room, but then he stopped at the doorway, turning to look back at her.

There were tears in his eyes.

“Miss Beatrice, you…” He looked away, blinking. “You can’t do that t-to people. Y-you… You had no right to keep such things f-from me.”

He was shaking from head to toe, seeming afraid of his own words, or rather, how she would react to them.

He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. He closed his eyes.

“Miss Beatrice, I knew Percival for a while before… before this – this Grindelwald man took over his life. I loved him dearly. I loved him more than you could ever know, and when I thought he turned his back on me-“ he broke off suddenly, gulping heavily. “I thought he had turned his back on me, that he didn’t… that he didn’t love me anymore, and I couldn’t understand why. And when he began to hurt me, I couldn’t understand why. He hurt me the way my mother hurt me. He hurt me the way those men hurt Sara.”

Beatrice gasped. A chill ran down her spine.

“And even after that night in the-the subway, I still d-didn’t understand why. I thought all along that it had b-been him! A-and…” His voice broke. “He broke my heart!”

Credence started to sob, but then suddenly he turned completely silent. His eyes widened.

Beatrice felt a sense of foreboding.

“He touched me…” His voice was so quiet, Beatrice only just heard it. “Oh God, he touched me... a stranger…”

His eyes were as wide as saucers. Beatrice felt a twist in her gut.

He folded his arms around himself, shaking from head to toe. “He touched me… he touched me…”

“Credence,” Beatrice rose from her chair, meaning to console her friend. “Credence, I-“

“DON’T!”

She had been reaching for his arm; he flinched back as if shocked. He recoiled, away from her, backing into a corner. His arms tightened around himself.

“Don’t touch me,” he croaked, retreating further still. His eyes turned to the wall. “He touched me… he wore Percy’s face, and he touched me…”

Credence began to scratch at his arm, whether purposefully or absentmindedly, Beatrice couldn’t figure out. She could only watch, horrified.

That man had hurt her friend. And she had said nothing.

Credence was right. She was as disgusting as he thought she was.

He looked back at her again. He cleared his throat.

“And you let me believe it.”

His eyes bore into hers, pinning her in place like a spotlight. She didn’t try to look away.

Credence began to cry. “I l-loved him so much, and even after what he did to me I still loved him. For months, months Miss Beatrice, I have been haunted by the fact that the man I thought had loved me had hurt me… in the worst way possible.”

Beatrice began to cry too, though she couldn’t understand why. She was in the wrong here, not Credence. She wasn’t the victim. She had no right to be crying as such.

But she found she couldn’t stop.

“And even now, I still find myself crying for him, crying for, for what I lost! Even now I miss him! I miss his voice, his touch, his smile, and all this time you knew that it… it wasn’t really him? I’ve been here for two months now, and all this time you knew, and you never told me? Why... _why_ didn’t you tell me?”

Idiotically, she began to speak. “I was trying to protect-“

“N-no,” Credence shook his head, swallowing thickly. “You weren’t trying to protect me. You weren’t trying to help me. If you wanted to help me, you would have told me! You should have told me!”

Now came the anger. Now came the rage. And Beatrice wasn’t prepared for it either.

He turned away from her, barely able to look at her anymore. “All this time, you’ve just been observing me, like a rat in a cage, waiting for me to – to what? To become a monster? Is that all I am to you? A monster to be contained, to be controlled and then… and then killed? Is that all I am?”

“No, Credence, I-!”

“NO!” Credence raised his voice, shocking even himself. “N-no, Miss Beatrice, I don’t want to hear it! All this time, you’ve lied! All… all you ever do is lie, to people who care about you! Sara loves you, Abel loves you, and all you do is feed them with lies!”

Beatrice choked back a sob.

“And he _touched_ me!” Credence’s face twisted with anguish. He pounded his fist against the wall. “He… he _raped_ me! He _kissed_ me! He… he _preyed_ upon my misery, and he… he made me lose who I was! I was a monster! He made me into a monster!”

Credence had never felt this way before. There was a fire in his heart, energy running through his veins. He felt electric. He felt he was about to explode.

“And _you_!” Credence whipped back around to face the older woman. She stepped back, looking, for the first time since he’d met her, terrified.

She _was_ terrified. Of him. To her, he was still a monster. That’s all he was to her. A monster.

Maybe he was.

“You…” he stepped towards her. She backed away. “Ever since we met, you have stood by and watched me suffer. I cried myself to sleep for weeks. I didn’t talk for months! All because of him! All because I thought he had betrayed me, and you… you let this happen! You knew him, you knew about us! And you never told me!”

“Crede-!”

“SHUT UP!” He roared, scaring even himself. “Just-! Just shut up, Beatrice!”

Beatrice fell silent. Credence turned away, chest heaving with sobs. He leaned against the wall, his knees shaking. He clutched at his heart.

He turned back to her, his face suddenly clear. He looked as if he was about to be sick.

“Tina…”

“Oh…” Beatrice felt something in her deflate; she knew what he was thinking. “Oh, Credence-“

“Miss Tina,” he cut her off, raising his finger accusingly. “You said she was also looking after Mister Graves. Does she know about this too?”

From the look on his face, he already knew it to be true. But she could tell all he wanted was for her to tell him the opposite.

She nodded silently.

He burst into sobs, burying his face in his hands.

“But no, Credence, she didn’t…” her words fell on deaf ears; Credence was crying too hard to properly hear what she was saying.

He didn’t know Miss Beatrice all that well, he had to admit. Not even after the heart-to-heart they’d had yesterday. In all instances, she was almost a stranger to him.

But he liked her. To him, she was more than a friend, she was family.

And Miss Tina… he loved Miss Tina. She’d tried to help him that day, tried to rescue him from his mother, purely out of the goodness of her heart. She’d tried to help in the subway, tried to protect him from Mister Graves. And seeing her again, just a few days ago, that had been the happiest he’d felt in a long time.

Had it all been for naught?

Had it all been false?

Did she even like him at all?

Credence sobbed, loud and long, one hand pressed over his eyes, the other over his aching heart.

He’d been hurt so much. He’d been lonely for so long. He thought she was his friend.

But he was just a test subject, a little mouse for them to watch and quickly abandon. In the end, they’d never really wanted him at all. All this time, they’d only been afraid of what he could become.

He looked back at Miss Beatrice, as much as he could through his now-blurry vision.

“Now, Credence…” Beatrice began to stand. “Don’t panic now, please…”

“You can’t do something like that,” he croaked, his voice wobbling. “Miss Beatrice, you... you can’t do things like to people! You… you can’t just toy with people’s emotions like that!”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Credence shook his head, his heart pounding. “No. I’m s-sorry, Miss… but no. I can’t accept that. I… I _can’t_ forgive you for something like this.”

He made to head out again, but then he stopped, turning back to her.

“M-Miss Beatrice,” he began shakily. “I… I don’t know who exactly this Grindelwald is, but… Percy told me about him. I know what he’s done. I know that he… he is wicked, wicked man, someone that’s hurt a lot of people. And he hurt me too. He hurt me so much… but…”

Credence paused to clear his throat. Every word felt like it was fighting to stay inside his throat. “Beatrice, it’s you that’s let me believe it was the man I loved. It was you that’s lied to us for so long! You… Y-you’re a monster! You’re just as bad as he is!”

He fled the apartment, Beatrice’s sobs ringing in his ears.

*

Percival Graves had been awake for a while.

Well, to be honest, he’d never actually fallen asleep the previous night. Tired as he’d been, as he still was, he found himself still unable to really close his eyes.

His eyes burned, his head throbbed, his vision was starting to blur around the edges, and still he could not asleep. It was morning; the sunlight flooding through the window was the Devil on his sore eyes. He should close the curtains. He wanted to close the curtains. He wanted to sleep.

But he didn’t close the curtains. He didn’t try to get out of bed. He didn’t even move his leg.

He stared at the curtains for a long time, concentrating hard. He willed them to close, willed it with all his might. His head throbbed even harder.

The curtains didn’t move an inch.

He stopped staring at the curtains, instead turning his gaze to the wall. He sighed internally, and then cursed himself internally, for not having enough energy to sigh aloud.

He stared at the wall for a long time.

He blinked once (when was the last time he’d blinked?), and then suddenly he was unable to keep his eyes open. They drifted closed, shutting out the wretched sunlight.

He was very dehydrated, he remembered.

His mouth was dry as sandpaper. He tried to swallow, even just a bit of saliva, but to no avail. He needed a drink of water. Badly.

He should get up.

Yes, yes he should.

But he didn’t.

He sighed again, still internally.

Why did he feel this way?

He wanted to do things, and yet he didn’t. He wanted to make himself breakfast, to take walks around the garden without his wretched cane. He wanted to shower, to clean his teeth, to take his meals at the table instead of eating them on the kitchen floor. He smelled ghastly, and he knew it. He needed to take a shower. He needed to wash the dishes, to do the laundry. He needed to wake up at a usual time, to stop taking so many naps. He needed to take back control on his life.

But he didn’t.

Such simple little things had once been the norm to him. Once upon a time, he flew through life like a breeze, satisfied with his simple routine and accomplishing each daily task as though it were no harder than buttoning up his spats.

But now…

Now, suddenly and without reason, everything felt strange to him.

He felt like he’d lost the ability to do things, to finish even the simplest chore. Things that had once been pieces of cake, no-brainers to his former self now could take hours, even days for him to finish, or to even start. These days, he didn’t even wear his spats anymore. Most days he didn’t even wear shoes.

He spent his days in bed, his nights awake and feeling miserable. There were records to listen to and the garden to tend, paper and pencils for drawing pictures, a telephone in the kitchen to talk to anyone he liked. But most of the time he spent doing absolutely nothing, nothing but staring at the walls and ceiling, taking out food to eat only to return it to the pantry and sit down on the kitchen floor, suddenly exhausted. And each night, he began to fall asleep later and later – some nights he didn’t even sleep at all – and when morning came he would wake only to stay in bed for hours, until Bea or one of the Goldstein girls came knocking at his door. And when he finally left his bed, it was only to sink back down beneath the covers and remain there for a good long time to come.

He wanted to exercise. He wanted to get outside, to stretch his legs, to feel the sun’s warmth on his skin. He hated this house, hated it to its rotten core. He felt trapped in here. Felt suffocated. Some days it felt like he was back inside that wretched box. But for some reason, it was here that he chose to remain, shut up behind locked doors and heavy curtains. As much as he desired to step outside again, it was the outside that he dreaded, full of unknown enemies that could at any moment snatch him up and hide him away, never to be found again…

Percival shuddered. He rolled onto his side, away from the window. Curse the world, curse the outside, and curse this damn house along with it.

He opened his eyes.

He looked at the little table beside his bed, bare but for a lamp. Beyond that was the desk, and a chair, and another damn lamp. Beside that was the bedroom door, painted white like the rest of the godforsaken house…

With nothing else to think about, he thought about Beatrice.

He curled up slightly, his thoughts drifting to the previous day, to his argument with the younger woman. He remembered the way he’d felt as she spoke, the burning anger throbbing behind his eyelids. He remembered wanting to shake her, to hit her even. He remembered tearing the keys from her hands, practically throwing her out the front door.

He remembered the way she’d cried, harder than he’d seen her cry in a very long time. Even now, hours later, he could still hear her sobs ringing in his ears.

He clenched his fists.

She would receive no sympathy from him.

Percival had known Beatrice a long time, a very long time. He’d met her long before he’d met Lily, and over time they’d created a bond like no other. She was his oldest and most trusted friend. When times were dark and he’d needed her help, she’d always followed through, and as had he for her. Through thick and thin, they had stayed by each other’s side, standing up for one another, fighting for each other, protecting each other and those they loved, as they had sworn to do so in the days receding Lily’s death.

But now, he felt as though her friendship had come to its final and bitter end.

She’d lied to him for weeks, lied to him about the boy who mattered more to him than any other. When they’d finally pulled him out the box, when he finally woke from his slumber, the first thing Beatrice had said to him had been a lie. And every word since then had been a lie, and as the weeks went on, she had merely stood by as he suffered alone, had watched him fall into a state of misery to which it felt there was no cure, and still had remained silent.

Those weeks, those months locked up tight in that dreaded box, imprisoned in his own damn office, he’d experienced torture like no other. For months, he’d been putty in the hands of a twisted psychopath, a raving madman with an unquenchable thirst for destruction and chaos, a man who had hurt not only him but those he loved and cared about. For months, he had wept for the safety of his boy, his darling, his love, hopeless as Gellert Grindelwald had worked his evil ways into the heart of the boy Percival loved.

And Beatrice… what she’d done to Percival now, the feelings of betrayal that had twisted his gut as she explained the truth, it had hurt worse than the bruises, the cuts, the violence Grindelwald had inflicted upon him. It had hurt worse than the madwizards’s taunting, than his manipulation, than the countless times he had forced himself upon Percival in the bedroom. It had worse than the tales Grindelwald would whisper in his ear, stories of what he had done to people Percival cared about, what he still had in store for them and for all the wizarding world, gloating in the fact that all Percival could do was sit there helpless, the only man with the knowledge to save them all, and the only wizard without the power.

What Beatrice had done, it had hurt more.

It was one thing to have someone you hate hurt you.

It was another to have someone you love hurt you too.

Percival shifted again, rolling onto his back. He stared at the ceiling, the white ceiling.

He still didn’t understand why.

Maybe she had explained why she hadn’t told him the truth, maybe he’d been too angry to focus, maybe he was still too angry now to remember. Either way, he knew he didn’t want an explanation. Beatrice… she hadn’t just betrayed his trust, she… she’d broken his heart. That couldn’t be excused.

But Credence was alive.

The thought came to him in a rush.

Credence Barebone was _alive_.

He wasn’t dead, as Beatrice had told him. He wasn’t dead, as Tina had told him. He was alive, he was living. He was the boy who had come to the house with Beatrice the previous morning, the boy she’d told him was named Oscar of all of things – yet another lie – a boy with rosy cheeks and long curly hair that had looked soft even from this distance, a boy that had hugged both the Goldstein sisters without a hint of hesitation, and it had not just been a boy but _his_ boy, his darling, his love, his Credence.

Credence Barebone was alive.

And Percival knew where he was.

*

Credence was lost.

On his way out the door, on his way down the street, he’d been too busy trying to stop crying, too busy anxiously avoiding the gaze of those who passed him by, too busy trying to _stop crying_ , that he’d been walking for ten minutes before he finally realized that he didn’t actually know how to _get_ to the bakery, which was where he was heading.

He’d only been there twice now, and both times he’d been with Abel, both times he remembered to have been too busy gazing upon Abel’s lips as he spoke, too busy holding onto his soft hand, to actually have paid much attention to their surroundings.

Credence sniffed. He wiped his nose.

Without Abel, surely he would get lost? What if he forgot which way to get back home? What if he ended up walking the streets for hours, delving further and further into the city still with no clue where to go?

Credence started to panic.

What would happen when it got dark? What if he ran into some mean people, scary people, people that tried to hurt him? What if he had to spend the night outside, cold, afraid, alone?

Credence started to cry again.

He just wanted a hug, wanted Abel’s arms wrapped around him, lips on his cheeks, soft voice whispering that everything was going to be alright.

He began to cry harder.

Who was he kidding? Everything wasn’t going to be alright. Beatrice was a liar, had been lying this whole time. A… a stranger had touched him. A stranger had kissed him, had touched every part of him…

Credence rubbed at his arm. He felt like he was still being touched, on his arm, on his head, icy cold fingers at the back of his neck. He shivered in disgust, in fear. He wasn’t being touched, he was fine, he was alone, he wasn’t fine, he wasn’t fine because he was alone, he wasn’t fine because a stranger had touched him.

He whimpered. His knees began to shake. He didn’t think he would be able to walk much longer, not in this state.

There was several seats set up outside a café, just a few feet away. But there were people around, and they were staring at him. He didn’t want people to stare at him. He wanted to be alone. No he didn’t. He just… he didn’t want anyone to stare at him.

There was an alley up ahead. He didn’t like alleys. There could be scary people down there, people that could hurt him.

He just wanted his friend.

He realized he’d stopped walking. People were still staring at him. Children pointed and giggled as they passed him. He tried not to look at them.

He kept walking, passing the shop, passing the alley. He wiped his nose.

There was a bench up ahead, with no one sitting on it. He decided to sit down. He looked down at his toes.

A stranger had touched him.

He breathed in deeply, the way Abel had taught him some time before. In through his nose, and then out again through his mouth. He repeated this several times, until finally his knees stopped shaking, until finally the soreness in his throat began to subside. He swallowed several times, trying to clear his throat. He needed a glass of water.

A stranger had touched him. And Beatrice had let him believe it.

He curled up into a little ball, placing his head on his knees. He chewed at his bottom lip miserably.

He just wanted Abel, just wanted his friend. He wanted Abel’s lips on his warm cheeks, kissing away the tears. He wanted Abel’s soft hands grasping his own, cupping his face, rubbing soothingly over his back. He wanted Abel’s kind voice, kind smile, kind eyes, just Abel. He needed Abel.

But he was lost. He was lost, and he didn’t know which way to go.

And he was alone.

Credence cried. He buried his head in his knees, feeling lonelier than he’d ever been.

*

The strudel was coming along wonderfully.

Queenie had just finished preparing the dough, that of which was now sitting stretched over the dining table, large enough to hang over the edges. She ran her fingers under it, humming in satisfaction. Smooth, and thin as cigarette-paper. Perfect.

She turned back to the bench, still humming, and began to mix sugar and spices in a little bowl. In another bowl, she whisked an egg into melted butter, to brush over the pastry. Beside her, she’d already twisted bits of pastry into roses and leaves, to use as decoration for the top of the dessert.

All that was left now was the filling.

She turned to a bowl of apples, already washed and gleaming red. From the drawer she fetched a suitable knife, and began to slice them thinly.

That’s when she felt it.

She almost cried aloud, as a wave of misery suddenly washed over her, flooding through her mind and twisting at her heart. Pain, terrible pain, wretchedness, sorrow, she could suddenly feel it all as if it were her own. It caused her to stumble back, caused the knife to slip from her hand, cutting her palm.

She gasped in pain, clutching at her hand. She whipped around, to where Tina had been sleeping all the while in their bedroom. She’d had such a rough night, the poor dear. Queenie didn’t want to wake her.

She grasped onto the bench with her good hand, trying to stable herself, as still it kept flooding into her, feelings of suffering and desolation, of betrayal, of anxiety, of sudden fear, of hopelessness, and of then of a deep loneliness that made her own heart ache, that made her shakily drop to her knees, her whole body trembling as it still kept washing over her, making her feel as though a hole had opened somewhere inside of her, a hole that could never be filled again.

She burst into tears.

She buried her face in her hands, almost unable to feel the stinging in her palm as it all just kept flooding through her, like she’d been swept into a wave of despair. She felt like she was drowning.

Who was it? Who was feeling these things? Who was so unhappy, that their own unhappiness had reached her, caused her to feel it as if it were her own? Who was this? What was happening to them? Were they hurt? Were they in pain?

Suddenly hands were on her, familiar arms draping around her shoulders, and a voice was calling her name, but it sounded so far away…

“Queenie! Queenie!” Cool hands touched hers, and then suddenly she was back, back in her apartment, huddled on the floor in the kitchen, and Tina was beside her, looking sick with worry.

“Queenie! Queenie, what happened?” Tina grasped at her arms, barely refraining from shaking her. “Queenie, please talk to me!”

“Tina!” Queenie gasped, struggling for breath. “Tina, Teeny, someone’s hurt!”

“W-what are you talking about, what do you mean?” Tina didn’t understand. “Queenie, what-“ she gasped. “Queenie, you’re hurt! What happened? Did… did someone come in here? Did they hurt you?”

She jolted up then, whipping her wand from her pocket, but Queenie grasped at her trouser leg.

“No… no, Teeny, not here, no, someone’s hurt! Not me, someone else, they’re hurting, Teen!” God, she sounded nonsensical, but she kept babbling on, trying to get it all out at once. “Teeny, I felt it! I felt someone hurting, someone hurting real bad-“

She broke off, collapsing into sobs again, as a new wave of misery washed through her. Tina crouched back down, still wary but more concerned for her sister. Queenie grasped at her jacket.

“Credence!” She realized finally who it was, felt who it was.

Tina frowned, more confused than ever. “Credence, what about Cre… oh my God.”

“He’s hurt, Teen. He might be in trouble! And he’s all alone, he’s frightened… he…” Queenie stopped, trying to concentrate. Now that she knew who the misery was coming from, now that she knew it was the sweet boy Teeny was so fond of, she was going to do her best to help him. “He… he was trying to get to, to the bakery!” She focused harder, hoping to dig into the roots of the misery still lingering in her mind. “He... he wanted to see Abel, Teen, but he got lost-"

“Queenie!” Tina grabbed her arms. “Queenie, stop!”

“And now he…” Queenie trailed off, staring at her sister. “What is it, Teen?”

“It’s Beatrice,” Tina said firmly. “She told Mister Graves yesterday, about Credence. She must’ve told Credence this morning.”

“Oh!” Queenie clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh no…”

Tina looked conflicted for a moment, but then her eyes widened. “You said he was lost?”

Queenie nodded frantically. “He was trying to get to the bakery-“

“We have to find him!” Tina stood again, tugging Queenie up with her. “We have to – oh! Queenie, you’re still hurt!”

“Oh, no, I’m alright, really…” Queenie shrugged it off, but Tina took a gentle hold of her hand, and tapped it with her wand. The wound healed instantly. Another wave of her wand cleaned off the excess blood smeared over Queenie’s palm and face.

Queenie smiled at her sister. “Thanks, hon.”

“Come on!” Tina grasped her hand. “We’ve gotta find him, we gotta make sure he’s alright!”

“Okay!” Queenie snapped to attention. “Okay, I’ll…”

She reached behind her back, fingers pulling at the strings her apron.

Her apron…

“Oh.”

She bit her lip, looking back at the table, at the pastry stretched over it. She looked at the bench, at the apple she still had to slice, at the bowls and containers of ingredients. She thought then of the outfit she’d set out on her bed earlier, to wear when she met Jacob for lunch.

“Oh…”

“Queenie, what’s the matter?” Tina walked back into view, wearing a different jacket and holding a pair of shoes. “We have to go, what… oh.”

She looked down at the table, at the clutter on the bench, and her eyes widened slightly in understanding.

“You’re meeting Jacob today, aren’t you?”

Queenie nodded, biting her lip. She looked down, feeling conflicted.

“I don’t wanna be late…”

Tina’s shoulders slumped. “Queenie… I have to find him. It’s…” her eyes darted to the clock. “It’s only ten, hon. Surely there’s enough time?”

Queenie bit her lip a little harder, thinking. She’d told Jacob she was going meet him just before twelve, and she still had so much to do. But she couldn’t just leave that sweet boy out there, lost and all alone. But, she didn’t want to be late.

She sighed.

“Okay,” she finally said, coming to a decision. “Okay, let’s find him.”

Tina relaxed, managing a smile. “Thank you.”

Queenie turned back to her cooking, placing her hand on her hips. “I’d wanted to this all by hand, but… oh well.”

She plucked her wand from her apron pocket, and waved it at the ingredients coating the table and bench. Of their own accord, a new knife rose from the drawer and kept slicing apples. A small brush dipped into the butter mixture and began to coat the pastry, and the bowl of sugar and spices followed along to sprinkle in its wake.

Queenie headed into the bedroom, untying the apron from around her waist, and using another spell to clean the flour from her face and hair. Quickly, she changed into the outfit she’d laid out, and slipped her feet into her new shoes. A bundle of cosmetics followed her as she headed back into the main room, and she stood as still as possible as the makeup quickly did its work.

She fetched a sheet of baking parchment and wrapped up the now perfectly cooked strudel, and then she was ready to follow Tina out the door.

Tina chuckled, rolling her eyes at Queenie as they headed out into the corridor. “How come you didn’t do all that in the first place?”

“I wanted to do it his way,” Queenie grinned back, feeling a little warmth in her chest. “I really like him, Teen. I… I want him to know that, to understand it fully, you know?”

“Cute,” Tina bumped her arm as they turned into the stairway. “You think he’s the one?”

The warmth turned into a glow. “Yeah, Teen. Yeah I do.”

 *

Credence didn’t know what to do.

He’d been sitting here for a while now. With no watch, no clock, he didn’t actually know how long it had been, but he was quite sure it had been more than ten minutes since he’d sat down.

He looked up, left, right.

He looked back down at his knees.

He realized with a start that he was still wearing his pyjamas. He flushed from head to toe, embarrassed, ashamed. No wonder everyone had been staring at him; he must look like a madman.

He shrank back down in his seat, curling his shoulders up to his ears, trying to make himself as small and unnoticeable as possible.

The safest bet, he knew, would be to try to return home. But he didn’t remember which way he’d came, or what turns he’d taken.

And anyway, he couldn’t go home now. Not while Beatrice was still there, and Abel wasn’t. It would to awkward, too uncomfortable. He wouldn’t know what to do, what to say, not even how to act.

But he didn’t know which way to go. And he was too afraid to ask anyone for help. What if they were mean? What if they were scary? What if they just ignored him?

He sniffed again, wiping his nose on his sleeve, his pyjama sleeve.

He didn’t want to cry again. His head hurt.

He sniffed a bit louder. He wiped his nose.

What had he been thinking?

He looked down, feeling glum.

He couldn’t go to Abel about this, about the way he was feeling. How was he supposed to explain? There was no way he could tell Abel the whole story, but there was no other way to possibly explain his misery. And he wasn’t going to lie. He’d had enough of lies and deceit.

He just wanted his friend.

But he didn’t know where to go.

Credence started to cry again.

His head throbbed as he cried, which just made him cry harder. He was alone, he was lost, he felt like he was going to be sick. He just wanted his friend.

He looked down miserably. He reached up and rubbed his shoulder. He still felt like he was being touched.

How could Beatrice have done this to him? How could she have lied to him, all this time? How could she have ever thought it was the right thing to do?

Credence stifled a sob.

And Miss Tina. He’d thought she really liked him. She’d told him she loved him. And it had all been a lie. Everything had all been lies.

Credence sobbed.

He loved Miss Tina. She’d tried to help him, tried to save him from getting hurt. He thought she was nice. He thought she really cared about him.

But it had all been a lie.

Credence curled over, hunching his shoulders past his chin, trying to hide from the rest of the world. His throat was so sore, his mouth so dry, but still he cried, so hard it hurt. He clutched at his throbbing head.

But Percival, he hadn’t been a lie. All this time, it had been an imposter. A stranger wearing Percival’s face, Percival’s clothes, living in Percival’s home. And he’d been the one lying to Credence, an evil wizard wearing Percival’s skin. And he had touched Credence, kissed Credence. He’d known how Percival had felt about him.

Credence took a shaky breath.

Did Percival still feel that way about him?

Beatrice had told him that man had been keeping Percival prisoner. She’d told him that… that the first word Percival had spoken after being rescued was Credence’s name.

Percival hadn’t hurt him. And Percival still loved him.

But… this didn’t make Credence feel any better. He felt like he should be happy at the news, happy that his… that Percival had never hurt him. He knew he should be happy. But the fact was that Percival still loved him, even after all that had happened, Percival still loved him, and Credence didn’t know what to feel.

He looked down at his hands.

He felt so confused. He knew he should be happy.

But he wasn't.

And he didn’t know why.

“Hey, kid, are you alright?”

It took Credence a moment to realize he was being addressed. He’d been too wrapped up in his thoughts, he’d forgotten where he was, that there were people around him.

“Kid? Hey, are you okay?” The man spoke again.

Credence looked up.

The man standing before him looked to be one foot in the grave. He was uncomfortably skinny, enough so that his clothes hung off him like a sheet, enough so that Credence could clearly see the veins in his arms, the bones sticking out from his cheeks and shoulders. He was balding, and pale as paper, and leaning heavily on a wooden cane. He was rather frightening.

Credence swallowed nervously. He suddenly wished he had taken his chances with the alley.

The man perhaps seemed to notice, for he offered Credence a small smile. He was missing several teeth, however, and so the kindly gesture only made him seem more frightening.

Credence gulped. He shrank back, his stomach jumping with nerves. He wished the man would just go away.

The man’s eyes widened. His eyes were different to the rest of him, Credence noticed. They were soft and dark, a stark contrast to his white face, and… Credence didn’t know how he knew this, but… they seemed friendly. In fact… looking into his eyes, the man suddenly seemed a little familiar.

Credence jolted back with a gasp, the realization washing over him like a wave. Those eyes, those soft brown eyes that Credence had once fallen asleep staring into, eyes that belonged to Percival Graves.

Percival Graves was standing right in front of him.

Percival Graves gasped himself. He staggered back, dropping his cane. His legs trembled, but he did not fall. He stared at Credence, who stared back, both with the same shocked expression, the same dry throats and gaping lips, the same chill that ran down their spines as they stared at each other, as they could only stare at each other, suddenly unable to speak.

Credence felt numb. He felt frozen. He felt like he was being held in place by some unseen force. He seemed to have lost the ability to breathe.

Percival was the first the break the silence.

“C-Credence?”

“Credence!”

Neither men heard the external shout, so wrapped were they in each other’s gaze. All Credence could understand right now that Percival Graves was standing before him, and all Percival could register that Credence, his boy, was right here in front of him, close enough to touch.

“Credence!”

Both men heard the shout this time, louder than before. Credence was the first to break the gaze, tearing his eyes away from Percival’s, to look around for whoever had called his name.

“Credence!”

“Credence, honey, is that you!”

The shouts were coming from two young women rapidly approaching them from across the street, two very familiar young women named Tina and Queenie Goldstein.

Credence shrank back, forgetting Percival for a moment as he recalled what Beatrice had told him, that Miss Tina had too been lying to him all this time. And if Miss Queenie was Miss Tina’s sister, and if she could read minds, Credence remembered, then surely she must’ve known about it. Perhaps she was on the same side as her sister, just using him like a rat in a cage.

“Credence!” Miss Tina reached him first, running ahead of her sister. She bent over slightly, panting for breath. “Oh, Credence, honey, I – huh…?”

Tina realized they weren’t alone; she caught sight of an unfamiliar pair of shoes. Her eyes travelled up a man’s body, until she reached his face, a face that belonged to none other than-

“Mister Graves!” Tina’s eyes widened in surprise. She straightened up immediately. “M-Mister Graves, what.. what are you doing outside? Sh-shouldn’t you… oh…”

Her eyes darted to Credence, then back to Percival, then back to Credence again. She fell silent. Her eyes widened further.

The two men stared back at her, Percival in surprise, Credence in sadness.

“Tina!” Queenie came bumbling up beside her, equally out of breath. “Tina, we found him! How is he, is he – oh my.”

Her eyes flared, as she too noticed the fourth member of their party.

She deflated slightly, taking a step back. “Teeny… Teeny, this is not good.”

Tina put her hands over her mouth. Eyes wide as saucers now, her gaze darted between the two of them almost comically. Credence looked away, swallowing down a lump in his throat. He could barely even look at her, not after what she’d done.

Percival looked back down at Credence, Credence, his boy, his dear, alive. He was alive and here, and… he looked sadder than Percival had ever seen him.

Before, he would’ve kissed Credence, held his boy. He would’ve asked Credence what was wrong, how he could help, but now… he felt he was the reason the boy appeared to be so upset. And he didn’t know what to do, how to act. All he could was stare.

Because his boy was _alive_.

And he was here.

“Oh my…” Tina stepped back herself, trying to examine the situation. She was a mess right now, unsure of how to feel, of what to do. Dear Christ, Beatrice was going to kill her. She had to something, but suddenly all she could do was stare.

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

She turned slightly, feeling altogether too overwhelmed to keep looking. She was breathing heavily. Queenie touched her arm.

“Oh dear…”


	22. Chapter 22

Everything was happening so fast.

The ground, it was swaying beneath him; _he_ was swaying, and there was wind, a roaring wind rushing through his ears. And Miss Tina was in front of him, and her mouth was moving, but there was no sound coming out. Or perhaps there was sound coming out, but if so then Credence couldn’t hear it, not over the wind in his ears, a wind that he finally realized was his own breathing, and he could hear his heart beating like a drum, each thud hammering against his chest, and oh… there were spots in the air, purple spots, yellow spots, and the ground was swaying… and he was falling…

“Credence!”

He could hear the voice, he could hear her voice now, but it sounded so far away, like she was calling to him from the end of a tunnel.

“Credence! Credence, please calm down!”

He could hear her, but he wasn’t listening any more. He wasn’t focusing, on her or her sister or any one passing by or even the busy sounds of the street behind him, because Mister Graves was standing before him right now, Mister Graves was right in front of him, and he was close enough to touch.

Credence recoiled.

“Credence!” Miss Tina stepped in front of him, in between him and Mister Graves, but still Credence couldn’t focus on her. She was fading again, as though she were talking to him through water. He felt like he was drowning.

It wasn’t him.

Credence swallowed hard.

It wasn’t him. It wasn’t him. It… it wasn’t Mister Graves.

It was Percy.

It was _Percy._

Credence took a deep breath.

The man in front of him hadn’t hurt him. The man standing before him had _not_ hurt him. That had been another man, a man with… with Percy’s face, a man that hadn’t. Been. Percy. Hadn’t been Percival. It _hadn’t been Percival_.

But here he was now, a different face but the same eyes, eyes that been cold as they looked at Credence, and hands that had been cold as they touched Credence, touched him in his most intimate parts, touched him everywhere…

Credence took a shaky breath, shrinking away from Miss Tina, from her sister, from _Mister Graves_ , no, Percival, Percy, it was Percy, but those eyes… they looked as dead now as they had before, when that man had hurt him, had hurt him all over, had hurt him in his most intimate parts.

Credence cried out.

Tina jumped back in surprise, colliding with Mister Graves, _Mister Graves_ , that cold rainy day, that horrible night in the subway, hurt, pain, betrayal, _I thought he loved me._

Credence started to cry.

“Credence!” Miss Tina stepped forward again, arms held out, trying to console him, but no, she lied to him, she’s lied to him all this time, he couldn’t let her near him, he couldn’t let himself get hurt anymore, and so he jolted back. As she stepped towards him, he jolted up and away, up from the bench and stepping back, terrified, ashamed, unsure what to do, what to think, nothing except to get away, but no. He was still lost, he still didn’t know which way to go.

Credence cried harder, still stepping back, even though Miss Tina wasn’t trying to touch him anymore. She stayed where she was, her arms lowering to their sides, standing in between him and Mister Graves, Mister Graves, Mister Graves…

_I have to get out of here._

“Credence.” A new voice.

Credence turned.

Miss Queenie. She was walking towards him now, slowly.

Credence flinched back. She was smiling, and her smile was kind, and Credence wanted to trust her, she’d been so nice to him yesterday. She’d given him sweets, and made him lunch, and held his hand as they walked up the stairs because she’d known he was scared. He wanted to trust her so much.

“You can, honey.” Miss Queenie stopped before him, and she looked so sad, but still she smiled at him. “You can trust me. I promise you can trust me. I know where you want to go, and I know how to get there.”

Credence felt pinned by her gaze. He wanted to look away, but he knew if he did he would only be able to look at Mister Graves, who was looking at him now, who had done nothing but stare at him the entire time. And if he didn’t then he would look at Miss Tina, and she had lied to him. She had lied to him since the beginning.

He closed his eyes. He couldn’t look at any of them right now. It hurt too much.

He was still crying.

He stepped back, shaking his head, eyes still closed. His head hurt. “No, no… no, please don’t, Miss. Please don’t lie to me…”

“Oh…” Miss Queenie trailed off, sounding… impatient? He was frustrating her, he was making her angry, he knew he was. She was going to be mad at him, no, she wasn’t like that, was she? How was he supposed to know? She was a liar, and Miss Tina was a liar, Miss Tina was a liar, liar, liar-

“I thought you were my friend!” He sobbed. “A-and, I had such a good- time yesterday, Miss. I… h-had such a good day, b-but you’re a liar, you’re b-both liars, you-“

“Credence-“ Miss Tina’s voice.

“No, no, please don’t lie, please s-stop lying, Miss!” Credence stepped back again, blindly – where was he going? How far away was he now? “Please...” he curled in on himself, hunching back. “Please don’t hurt me anymore… 

“Credence…” A new voice. Softer. A male’s.

 _Mister Graves_.

“No!” Credence curled back more, eyes open now but staring at the ground. “No, no, don’t hurt me, please, I don’t feel like it. I really don’t feel like it, Percy.”

“Credence, no, it wasn’t me-“

“Mister Graves, stop.”

Miss Queenie.

“Teeny, he can’t be here right now. You have to take him home.”

Sputtering, protests.

“I know. I know, hon. I know, how much you want to talk to him. But you can’t.”

“Goldstein, I-! Please, I… I have to talk to him…”

“…You can’t.”

Sounds of crying. Credence stepped further away. He turned around, holding his head up now. He had to get away, while they were talking.

“Credence!” Queenie noticed, felt his panic. “Oh, crumbs… Mister Graves, I’m so sorry, hon, but you can’t talk to him right now.”

She couldn’t let Credence get far. She had to help him. He was already so afraid.

Mister Graves was crying. She’d never seen him cry before, not even when they were taking care of him.

She’d have to find time to be surprised later.

“Mister Graves, I know what… what Grindelwald did to him.”

Mister Graves fell silent. He looked up at her. His eyes were already red.

She had sensed it in Credence, the horrors and pains she’d endured at the hands of the man who had tried to kill her sister. She had felt what had been done to him one rainy day, felt his fear, his agony that night in the subway station. She could feel it lingering now, like needles of ice on her skin. She shivered.

“He did terrible things to that poor boy. Terrible, terrible things – I can feel what he did. Mister Graves, he knows you’re not that man, but he’s matched your face to his pain. It’s going to take him a very long time to be able to even, to even look at you. He’s afraid of you. That’s not… I’m so sorry, hon, but it’s going to be look like that for a long time.”

Mister Graves sobbed. He buried his face in his hands, sobbing leaning heavily on his cane. Queenie couldn’t stop herself from feeling his pain. She almost cried out; she felt like she was dying.

She staggered back, tears rolling down her face. She looked at her sister.

Tina was crying just as much as she was.

Queenie swallowed hard, trying to find the strength to speak.

“T-Teeny… t-take him home, p-please. I… I’m going after Credence.”

Mister Graves sobbed.

Tina glanced at him, before turning back to her sister. Queenie could barely see her now, she was crying so hard.

“I… okay…” Tina’s voice was so quiet. She sounded heartbroken. “I’ll take him home.”

She looked down the road, towards where Credence had disappeared, then back at Queenie.

“Please help him.”

“...I’ll try.” Queenie nodded.

Tina sobbed. “He was afraid of me, wasn’t he?”

Queenie hesitated. She sighed.

She took Tina’s hand.

“I’ll help him. I promise.”

She kissed Tina’s cheek, and then she turned to run after their boy.

*

She couldn’t see him when she turned the corner, but when she concentrated, she could feel him again. She heard his heart. She felt his fear.

 _I’m coming_ , she thought. _Honey, I’m coming._

_Please let me help you._

She kept running, blinking away tears. She was going to help him. She’d made a promise. And she always kept her promises.

She slowed down outside a shop; she sensed him stronger than ever now. She knew he was inside.

She entered slowly, quietly. She didn’t want to scare him, but she didn’t want him to run anymore.

He was panicking. He didn’t know why he was in here, what he was doing. He was still lost, but he was so afraid. He’d just wanted somewhere to hide.

_Oh, honey…_

“Credence?” She called out softly. “Credence, honey? Are you in here?”

They were in a hatshop, she realized. There were several aisles. He was in the third. He’d heard her. He was panicking more than ever.

_Oh, honey._

She looked towards the shopkeeper. He was grumbling, obviously irritated at the boy’s “intrusion”, but when she shot him a dazzling smile he instantly brightened, even tipping his hat to her as she stepped further into the shop.

She walked towards the third aisle, slowly. She didn’t want to scare Credence. He was already so afraid, the poor thing. She just wanted to help.

She turned down the aisle. It was a dead end. He was crouched beside a shelf, shaking from head to toe. He was looking up at her, his eyes wide. He was terrified.

“Oh, honey…” she stared where she was, managing a smile. “Honey, please listen. I’m not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you.”

She crouched down slowly, lowering down to her knees. Credence watched her like a hawk.

“Credence, please listen, hon,” she spoke up again, smiling kindly. “I know where you want to go. You wanna go to the bakery, don’t you? Well… my plan was to get there today too. Look.”

She took her package out of her purse, unfolding it slightly to show him what was inside. She held it out in front of her.

Credence blinked, a little taken aback.

She was holding a pastry in her arms, one she’d undoubtedly made herself, Credence thought. It smelled so wonderful, she had to have made it.

Miss Queenie giggled. “Oh, honey, you’re sweet.”

She shuffled a little closer to him. Credence shrank back. She sighed.

“Look, I’m heading to the bakery myself, got all dolled up for it.” She gestured to her pretty clothes, her smiling face. “I’ve got someone really special to see, and I don’t want to be late, you know? And… I told him I’d meet him at noon, honey. And it’s not long till noon now. If you want, you can come with me?”

Credence looked down. He looked so small.

He mumbled something, so quiet she couldn’t hear it. But she heard his thoughts, and what she found very nearly broke her heart.

“Oh… honey…”

She shuffled forward again. This time, he didn’t even flinch.

“Credence, listen to me. Teeny loves you.”

Credence didn’t look up. He bit his lip.

She shuffled forward again, setting her strudel aside. “Credence, honey, she loves you. She loves you so much. She never meant for this to happen.”

Credence still didn’t look up.

“How do I know you aren’t lying?”

His voice was so quiet. Queenie sighed again.

She shuffled even closer. Now she was right beside him. And he didn’t try to move away.

She sat down. She put her hands in her lap.

“Credence, I know how hard it can be to trust people. I know how hard it is for _you_ to trust people, especially strangers like me, huh?”

She hummed, fiddling with her hands.

Credence still didn’t look at her. But she knew he was listening.

“Credence, listen, Teeny… she was against this from the start. From keeping the truth from you, I mean. She didn’t know about you and Mister Graves, it was Beatrice that told her a few weeks ago. I didn’t even find out until yesterday.”

She paused. Credence was looking at her now.

“But I know you don’t want to talk about that. The thing is, sweetie, I… I don’t know what Teeny was thinking when she agreed to do it, but I do know she was never comfortable with it. She never wanted to lie to you. She just wanted you to be safe. She just wants you to be happy.”

Credence looked down again. “I… I don’t know if I can trust you, Miss. I don’t… know… what to believe anymore.”

“Oh, honey…”

She leaned closer, her voice lowering. “I know. I know it’s hard. I… I’ve been there. After our parents died, Teeny and I… for the longest time, we had no one. There was no one willing to take care of us, no one who wanted to help us, you know. There were times when I wondered if we wouldn’t have a home. “

She put her hand on Credence’s knee. He didn’t flinch. She smiled.

“We didn’t know who to turn to. We didn’t know who to trust. But we had each other, through thick and thin. And Teeny… without her, we would’ve ended up on the street for sure.”

Queenie smiled. “Teeny’s a good girl. She’s always been. And the thing is, Credence, she loves you. She loves you like family. When she first met you, that day she tried to stop your mother hurting you, that was all her. That’s just the way she is. She’s impulsive, yeah, and she gets herself into all sorts of messes, but she’s a good girl. She just wanted to help you. She still does.”

Credence leaned against her. He sniffed. She smiled wider, thankful that he was beginning to calm down.

“She does?”

Queenie squeezed his knee. “Of course she does, honey. She loves you so much. And she, we’re, so sorry that this had to happen. She never meant for it to turn out like this.”

Credence bit his lip. “But she lied to me.”

Queenie sighed. “I know. I know she did, but I’m sorry, I don’t really understand why she did it. That’s something she’ll have to tell you yourself. But I can tell you now that she’s sorry. She’s sorry, and she loves you. She never meant for you to get hurt.”

Credence sniffed again. He wanted so badly to believe it, to believe Miss Queenie, but he was still so confused.

“I… I love her too,” he confessed shakily. “I really do, Miss. She tried to help me, she was so kind to me. I… I don’t want that to go away.”

He leaned against his shoulder, sniffing. She put her arm around him.

“It won’t,” she murmured, kissing his forehead. “I promise, it won’t. She loves you. She’ll always love you.”

Credence swallowed down a lump in his throat. He was still so balled up; he was feeling so many things at once, but he understood what Miss Queenie was telling him. He understood that Miss Tina was sorry, that above all she loved him, and, just for now, he let himself believe it to be true.

“I believe you,” he murmured. “I love her too. I always will.”

Miss Queenie pulled him against her, cuddling him against her breast. She kissed him gently.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, honey.”

*

Alma found Beatrice in her room.

The older woman was curled up in her bed, practically hidden under a pile of blankets. She was facing the wall. She didn’t look up as Alma entered.

The room was dark. Alma crossed over to the window and drew open the curtains. She opened the window. It was far too stuffy in here. She didn’t want to get a headache.

She sat down on the edge of the bed. From here she could see Beatrice’s face. She was as pale as a sheet, and her eyes were red and puffy. She was staring at the wall.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Alma put her hand over Beatrice’s thigh.

“Good morning, Beatrice,” Alma finally said.

Beatrice was silent for a few moments, before sniffing several times. She didn’t speak.

Alma patted her leg. “I’m sorry for not coming sooner. The boy was still here. I didn’t want to make him more upset.”

Beatrice looked at her, finally. “What…” she swallowed. “What are you talking about?”

“You haven’t noticed?” Alma grinned at her. “I most certainly spooked him the other day. You know how I get around easy readings, and that boy was an open book. I wish I’d been able to talk to him more.”

Beatrice sniffed again. She looked back at the wall.

Alma sighed. It was always difficult to see Beatrice like this.

She gave her leg a little squeeze.

“I’m going to make some tea,” she said. “I’d like you to join me. We’ll talk about it.”

She stood up and made her way over to the door. She paused in the doorway.

“James is on his way,” she told her friend. “He’ll be here soon.”

She stepped back into the kitchen. She set about preparing tea.

*

The bakery was a good long walk from the hat shop, so Queenie decided they should catch a tram. Once aboard, she and Credence sat at the back, where she quietly performed some spells to tidy him up.

She hadn’t quiet yet mastered transfiguring clothes, but she straightened out and cleaned his pyjamas, and used more spells to clean his face. She ran her fingers through his hair, combing it gently and wisping away any dirt. She wanted him to look his best. After all, she wasn’t the only one with a special someone to see.

She giggled, cupping his face once she was finished. “You’re so pretty, honey, do you know? Prettier than a dame.”

Credence flushed, smiling shyly. “Thank you, miss. You’re really pretty too.”

Queenie smiled back. “Thank you, honey.”

She pinched his cheek. He giggled.

She took his hand. “How are you feeling now?” She asked gently. “Are you feeling okay?”

Credence smiled at her, meaning it. He was still a little shook up from what had happened, but he was on his way to the bakery now. He was on his way to see Abel, and everything was going to be okay.

“Yeah.” He nodded at her. “I feel okay now.”

She smiled kindly, looking relieved. She gave his hand a squeeze.

He squeezed back.

They reached their stop several minutes later, just down the road from the bakery, and hurried the rest of the way. It was almost noon now, just about, and Queenie didn’t want to be a minute late.

The bakery was very crowded now, due to lunch hour probably, but one of the staff recognized her, and opened up the door by the register to let them through to the back.

They found Jacob quickly enough among the hubbub; he was standing before a stove, stirring jam in a pot. He looked rather tired, and was slightly sweaty, but when he noticed them he instantly brightened. With a grin, he abandoned his jam to walk towards Queenie. They grasped hands, before embracing each other tightly. Miss Queenie kissed him on the cheek. He kissed her back.

“Good morning honey,” she said happily. Her eyes were bright. She was smiling from ear to ear.

“Heh, good afternoon, almost,” Jacob chuckled. He beamed at her, his cheeks rosy pink. His eyes sparkled.

Credence looked between them, sort of… astounded. It was so clear how in love they were, how much they cared for one another. He wondered how long they’d known each other.

He stepped back as someone jostled past him, carrying a tray of donuts, _paczki_ donuts, Credence remembered they were called. He inhaled deeply as the man passed; they smelled wonderful. The whole room smelled wonderful, and it was nice and warm. He felt very comfortable here.

He looked around, wondering where Abel was. He hadn’t seen him yet, but then again it was rather crowded in the room, what with everyone bustling every which way. Credence leaned against Miss Queenie, not wanting to get swept up in the hubbub. He kept looking for his friend.

“Oh, right, I almost forgot!” Miss Queenie waved her hand, giggling. “Honey, have you seen Abel around? Credence-“ she turned to put her arm around Credence, holding him against her side.

“Oh! Hey there, guy!” Jacob grinned at him, extending his hand out to shake. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there. How you doing?”

Credence smiled shyly, reaching out his own hand. Jacob shook it briskly. “Good morning, sir.”

Miss Queenie smiled at him. “Honey,” she said again. “Credence wanted to come see Abel today. Do you know where he is? I would look for him myself, but I-“ she chuckled. “I don’t know what he looks like.”

Jacob laughed. “Ha, that’s alright, doll. Sorry, guy,” he turned back to Credence. “He left just before you came. He told me his friend- Sara-  had a… an accident at work, and he had to help take her home.”

“Oh!” Queenie looked shocked. “Oh dear…”

“What?” Credence gasped – he must mean Sara! “Do you mean Sara? She’s not hurt, is she? Do-do you know if she’s alright?”

Jacob shook his head, looking a little sad. “Sorry, I don’t. But I know that she works just down the street that way-” he pointed left- “a grocery store on the corner. Now, I can’t get there myself, but you’ll let me know if she’s alright, will ya? She’s such a kind girl. I hope she’s not hurt too bad.”

Credence nodded frantically, already beginning to move away. “Of course, sir. Thank you sir. I, I have to go!”

He hurried out of the shop, as fast as he could through the crowd. Once outside, he began to run as fast as he could. He hoped Sara was alright. He hoped he got there quickly. He didn't want to miss them.

He reached the grocery store around five minutes later, hot and panting heavily, just as Abel was walking out the door.

And then the world seemed to fall away.

Credence froze, still breathless but for another reason entirely, his cheeks still warm but also for another reason now (but what?). And he felt something in his chest, and then he felt like he was going to start crying again, all because of Abel. Abel was here. And everything was going to be okay.

He’d had a tough morning, and so much had happened, and it had all been so upsetting, but he was here now, and Abel was here, and everything was going to be okay.

“Credence?” Abel looked surprised to see him. “You’re here?”

“Abel…” Credence beamed, closing the distance between them. He took Abel’s hand.

There was so much he wanted to say, but all he could manage was, “Hi.”

Abel smiled at him. “Hi…”

He looked back at the store. Credence remembered about Sara.

“Oh, Abel, I heard about Sara!” Credence started to feel worried again. “I was at the bakery, and Jacob told me she’d had an accident? Is she okay?”

Abel turned serious. He squeezed Credence’s hand.

“Yeah, she… she’s going to be alright, sweet.” His tone turned bitter. “She was just, she was filling some shelves, high shelves, you know. And...” he grit his teeth. “Some cracker bastard pushed over her ladder, and… well, she’s got bad legs, you know…”

Abel blinked; he wiped at his eyes. Credence could tell he was very upset.

“How is she?” He asked gently. “Is she hurt?”

Abel sniffed. “She, she’s going to be okay. She didn’t fall very far. But her… her leg, it’s playing up again. She’s going to have to use a cane.”

“A cane?” Credence cocked his head. “Well, that’s not too bad, is it? How does she feel about it?

“Oh, she hates it,” Abel chuckled. “You’re right, it’s not that bad. I’m just upset about her getting hurt. Oh, but she hates it. She, uh, she had to use a cane for a few years, after, after what that woman did to her.”

Credence nodded, remembering their story. “I see.”

“Well, I… I was just going to head home to go fetch it, her cane, I mean.”

“Oh? I didn’t know she already had one.”

“Yeah, she keeps it at the back of the closet,” Abel looked a little embarrassed. Credence squeezed his hand. “She absolutely refuses to use it, of course, but we have it just in case, you know, something like this happens.”

Credence nodded. “Bastards,” he commented, not even blushing.

Abel managed a smile. “Bastards.”

*

Beatrice sat in silence at the little table, clutching a cup of tea between her hands. Alma sat across from her, equally silent, gulping down her third cup of tea thus far. Beatrice had yet to take a sip from her own drink. By now, it had probably gotten cold.

Alma set her cup down. She regarded Beatrice seriously. Beatrice wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“You fucked up,” Alma stated.

Beatrice sighed. She gave a small nod.

“I fucked up,” she replied.

Alma sighed too. She reached across the table. Beatrice grasped her hand.

“I apologize, for not coming sooner. I Saw what was going to happen, last night, and I would’ve come this morning, but I didn’t want to upset your friend further. He finds me to be a little frightening, were you aware?”

Beatrice hummed. “No, I voz not.”

Alma squeezed her hand.

Beatrice looked at her friend. “It’s qvite alright, dear. It… it’s better, dat you veren’t here.”

Beatrice looked down. She held Alma’s hand tightly.

Beatrice sniffed. “You… if you’d zeen the vay he looked at me… the vay they both looked at me…”

Alma put her other hand over Beatrice’s.

Beatrice started to cry. “I… I fucked up, Alma. I-I… I hurt my friend. I hurt that boy. I promised Tina I vood protect him. I promised her I vood keep him safe. I-I promised Percival, that… that…”

“Shh, shh…” Alma stroked her thumb over the back of Beatrice’s hand, trying to soothe her. “I know, my dear.”

“Und… I don’t know ver he vent, Alma. He, he just ran ov, I don’t know vere he vent. Vot if he gets lost? He doesn’t know this neighbourhood so vell, you know. Und he’s vite, und he’s young. Vot if zumone tries to hurt him?”

“Now, Bea,” Alma began, but Beatrice was hardly listening now.

She wiped at her eyes, sniffing. She shouldn’t still be here. She should be out there, looking for him, for what if he did get lost? But she didn’t even know where he’d gone, she didn’t know how to bring him back home.

But what would happen if she did find him? She knew she was probably the last person in the world he wanted to see.

She looked down miserably, wiping away more tears. She buried her face in her hand.

“Beatrice?”

Beatrice sniffed.

Alma patted her hand. “Beatrice, look.”

Beatrice looked up. Her eyes widened.

A luminescent blue bird, a patronus, had just flown into the room, supposedly through the open window. It circled around them, trailing silvery dust in its wake, before hovering to a stop beside Beatrice.

“Who’s is it?” Alma asked.

Beatrice recognized the bird, a goose. “It’s Tina’s,” she replied.

“Beatrice?” Tina’s voice sounded from the goose’s beak. “Beatrice, it’s Tina. Listen, I… I have Mister Graves-“

“Vot?” Beatrice’s eyes widened further. She and Alma exchanged a glance.

–“With me. He got out, I mean, he left his house, the house, but I’ve got him here, don’t worry. Anyway, he came out looking for Credence, and well, he found him.”

“Oh, my God…” Beatrice practically deflated in her chair. Could things get any worse?

“He’s a bit of a wreck, Bea, he’s uh, he’s crying a lot. Sorry, he didn’t want me to tell you that. Anyway, he’s refusing to go back to the house, so I, I’m gonna take him home, to my home. I don’t know where Credence went, but it’s alright, Queenie’s gone after him. I think she’s gonna take him to the bakery.

“Look, Beatrice, the thing is, I can’t do this. I shouldn’t be doing this. I never wanted to lie to him, to Credence. I never wanted to lie to my boss. I know you thought it was for the best, but you were wrong. We were both wrong.

“But this is your doing. You’re the one that hurt them. Credence, he, the way he looked at me just now…”

They heard Tina sob.

“God, I can’t fix this. I’m going home, Beatrice. I think you should come over. You need to fix things, okay? _You_ need to fix this.”

Her voice faded, and then the patronus began to fly away. It disappeared completely before it could reach the window.

Beatrice turned back to Alma. Alma regarded her seriously.

“Well?” Alma raised her eyebrows. “What are you going to do?”

Beatrice looked down at her cup. She swirled it around a few times.

“I’m going to fix dis,” she mumbled.

She set the cup down. She wiped off the last bits of wetness from her cheeks.

“I’m going to do vot she zed,” Beatrice stated. She stood up. “I’m going to fix dis mess. Vun vay or another… I’m going to fix dis.”

Alma stood up too. She offered Beatrice a little smile. “Where does your friend live?”

Beatrice managed a smile back. “Not far off. Ve can catch a tram.”

She headed back into her bedroom, to slip on her jacket and shoes. She’d noticed Alma was wearing her coat, so she slipped hers on too.

“Again, my dear, must you insist on so much black? Alma remarked as Beatrice left her room. “I understand it’s a custom, but you more than resemble a common undertaker.”

“At least I don’t resemble the Inklish flag,” Beatrice retorted, grinning at her friend. She wound her tallit around her neck, a stark contrast to her dark clothes.

Beatrice slipped her bag over her shoulder. “Ve don’t need to hurry,” she told her friend. “Ve should let him have a vile to git his bearings, to calm down a little. Votever happened this morning… surely it vozn’t pretty.”

Alma nodded in reply. “I can imagine.”

Beatrice swallowed. She adjusted her bag.

There was a moment of silence.

And then there was a knock at the door.


	23. Chapter 23

_Percival had been questioning Credence’s feelings for him for a while._

_Percival had already long since fallen hard for the boy. The way he nibbled on his bottom lip when he felt nervous, the way he never really seemed to look at Percival, not directly, not even when they spoke with one another, the way his fingers were always twitching, his shoulders always shaking, the hunched way he always walked; Percival had immediately recognized such anxious behaviours, so similar they were to the behaviours of his young comrades both during and after the war. He’d recognized that the boy was hurting, both outside and in, and immediately he’d known he was going to do everything in his power to protect this boy, this boy that had so suddenly entranced him with but a simple look._

_And from then on, from the moment of their second meeting and first meal together, Percival knew already he’d fallen in love. He’d known so little of the boy, known nothing but of the way his horrendous mother treated him, beating him and the other children day after day, night after night. But the boy was polite, and he was courteous, and it pleased Percival so greatly to see him smile. And when Credence kissed his hand for the first time, he knew he would live to pay for it in the long run, but in the moment he couldn’t have possibly given a damn._

_Because he knew he’d fallen in love._

_And as the weeks went on, as the months went on, as Credence began to open up to him, began to talk more freely, began to smile more often, laugh even, all Percival could think was,_ I did that _, and that just made him love the boy even more. They bought ice cream together, read together in the park or in Percival’s apartment. One time, Credence leaned against him as Percival read a book of poetry out loud, and Percival could quite have frankly died happy then and there._

_Of course, he did muster one pain, and of course that was the fact that Credence did not and most likely would never return his feelings._

_But as time went on, Percival started to question his words, a rare event in his case. For a while, he tried to convince himself that it was his affections for the boy playing tricks on him, that he was only seeing what he hoped to see: evidence that the boy loved him in return. But the way he clutched Percival’s hand at times, held it as if he hoped never to let go, those glances out of the corner of his eye that turned into lingering gazes he thought Percival didn’t see, the blush that graced his soft cheeks whenever their eyes met… surely it all had to mean something… right?_

_So Percival asked him._

_He’d meant for it be somewhere nicer, uncrowded of course; if his words were overheard the two of them could possibly be arrested for their “perversion”, or even beaten to death (honestly… these no-maj’s were so barbaric…)._

_His apartment would’ve been the first choice, but unfortunately it was out of the question that day – a pipe had burst and the whole floor was flooded with sewage, and unfortunately for that Percival was stuck with waiting for the no-maj plumbers to fix the building (to clean the mess himself would most definitely attract unwanted attention)._

_And so, Percival found himself leading his boy down a deserted alleyway close to his home, wordlessly – and wandlessly – casting an illusion over the entryway so no one would see them, or think to head down._

_Credence held tightly onto his hand all the while, his hand cold as ice even wrapped around Percival’s. Percival could tell he was confused, wondering why they were here, why Percival wasn’t taking him home. Percival felt too embarrassed then to explain._

_Credence squeezed Percival’s hand. “Percival? Is something wrong?"_

_Percival stopped then, still holding his boy’s hand. He looked at Credence, and then away again, thinking hard._

_His hand slipped from Credence’s then, to scratch at the nape of the neck. Credence immediately stepped forward, reaching out to take his other hand. His chest brushed against Percival’s. Percival inhaled sharply._

_“Credence,” he began, sounding a little choked. “C-Credence, uh… I’ve been meaning to ask you this for a while…”_

_Credence cocked his head. Percival knew he was more confused than ever, and for good reason. Percival was never like this – he was_ nervous _, for God’s sake. All because of this boy,_ his _boy, his treasure sent from above._

_Percival sighed. He wasn’t going to stop now. He had to know._

_“Credence, my boy…” he tightened his grasp on the boy’s hand. “What do you feel for me?”_

_Credence tensed. His eyes widened. Percival remained calm._

_“What…” Credence seemed panicked. Percival knew he was. “What do you mean, Mr-Percival?”_

_Percival put a hand on his cheek. Credence immediately leaned into it, sighing just slightly. Percival closed his eyes._

_“Credence, my boy, my dear-“ he began again._

_“What do you feel for me?”_

_His voice was barely above a whisper._

_Credence’s breath caught slightly. Percival wished he could see what his boy was thinking._

_It took a long time for Credence to respond. When Percival opened his eyes again, he saw Credence had closed his. He was breathing shakily. He was trembling from head to toe._

_Percival ran a thumb through his hair, hoping to soothe him. He squeezed Credence’s hand._

_Finally, Credence took a deep breath._

_“Everything…” he whispered. He opened his eyes again. “Mr Graves… I feel everything. Everything for you.”_

_Percival frowned, a little confused at first. Everything? Did that include… love?_

_He believed it did._

_“…Show me.”_

_Credence flinched, obviously taken aback. “W-what? Mr Graves, what do you mean, I-“_

_“Shh…” Percival’s finger was on his lips then, silencing him, trying to calm him down. Credence stared down at his hand._

_Percival smiled kindly at him, and when he spoke again, it was with a gentle tone. “Credence, my boy… Will you show me?”_

_He removed his finger, allowing Credence to speak. Credence immediately took his hand._

_“What…” His voice was too quiet. He cleared his throat and tried again. “W-what do you want from me, Mr Graves?”_

_“Oh, my boy…” Percival stepped closer to him, backing him slightly against the dirty alley wall. Percival took his other hand, holding it tightly. Credence’s eyes lowered to his lips, watching them as Percival next spoke._

_Percival smiled. “Everything.”_

 *

That had been their first kiss, that day. Percival remembered his boy stammering, nervous, blushing red from head to toe. He remembered Credence’s iron grip around his hands, the little tears that gathered in the corners of his eyes as he all at once stepped forward and kissed Percival for the first time. He remembered how awkward and rushed but oh how right it felt, and how it had ended all too soon, and then his boy was stepping back and hunching over and crying and saying sorry over and over again, sorry for his perversion, for his ungodly ways, for his filth in his attraction to Percival. He remembered soothing the boy gently, whispering to him until his boy quietened, until he stopped crying, and then he remembered finally kissing the boy in return, gently, gently. He remembered Credence beginning to cry again as they kissed. He remembered realizing he himself was crying. He remembered how happy he’d felt in spite of it. He remembered feeling the happiest he’d been in a very long time.

He remembered it all too well. Some days, it was all he could think about.

Other days, it was the memories of the first time they’d made love.

He remembered Credence crying, the first time Percival had made love to him. He remembered kissing his boy’s flushed cheeks as his hands ventured their way up the boy’s scarred thighs, savoring the little giggles and sighs that escaped his chapped pink lips. he remembered his boy falling suddenly into hysterics, sobbing and frightened, stammering prayers to his God, begging forgiveness for his selfish, sinful ways, all the while naked in Percival’s arms. And Percival remembered kissing the boy’s cheeks as the tears spilled from his eyes. He remembered taking the boy’s clasped hands and clasping them between his own, reminding him again that God had created all, and that he loved all that he created. He reminded his boy that God loved him for all he was, and all he chose to be. After all, wasn’t that God’s purpose? To love? 

Percival didn’t believe in God, but his boy did, and as Percival kept kissing him, whispering to him that if God didn’t approve of their love, then surely He would’ve torn them apart by now, that perhaps it was His will that they had found each other, Credence soon began to relax, returning Percival’s gentle kisses with gentle kisses of his own, kisses that quickly turned as passionate as they’d been before Credence had become upset. He remembered the boy’s slim hands on his shoulders, holding him so tightly the fabric of Percival’s shirt surely crumpled between his fingers. He remembered that being the first time the boy hadn’t apologized for supposedly ruining his shirt. He remembered ripping off the shirt so he could the feel his boy’s touch on his skin. He remembered how chilly his boy’s hands had been. He remembered not giving a single solitary damn.

He remembered Credence straddling his lap once Percival had shed the last of his clothes, snuggling up against him like a cat, possibly trying to seek as much as his body warmth as possible. He remembered their lips never separating once, not even while Percival had been undressing (that had caused a few complications). He remembered the boy’s ice-cold skin quickly becoming warm as Percival began to touch him again.

He remembered tracing his fingers over the boy’s skin like a map, memorizing every mole and scar, every jutted-out bone (of which he had many). He remembered Credence’s hands on each side of his head, holding him like an anchor, brown eyes boring into his. He remembered kissing him over and over, sometimes gently and other times so hard he wondered if he would become exhausted of air. He remembered laying down with him on the silken sheets, Credence clutching to him as though he hoped to never have to let to go. He remembered the way they gasped in unison as Percival began to move inside him, how they had moaned in unison, _breathed_ in unison, almost seemed to become one. He remembered Credence telling him he loved him, over and over between moans and desperate kisses, and he remembered how in love he’d felt with the boy in return, how he would gladly die for the boy in his arms, how he felt he’d finally found happiness again, at last.

He remembered it all, of all their time together, of all the time spent apart from his love, in that wretched cursed box. He remembered it all too well, and all so clearly. It kept him awake most hours of the night, reliving the horror of the… three or so months he’d spent in there, unable to sleep, unable to use magic, unable to perform the simplest charm. Grindelwald had taken his wand along with his pride, his honor, his soul; he’d taken everything Percival had had to give. And he’d taken him on the bed, and over the table in the dining room, and pressed against the window in the room upstairs, the window that looked out to nowhere, a never-ending gray that served nothing but to remind Percival of his imprisonment, of the fact that he had nowhere to go, and that no one was looking for him.

He remembered the day he’d stopped eating.

Three or so months, he’d spent in that box, but to Percival it had felt like years. His sense of time had gone completely shot after the first day, or two days, inside that wretched box. It had felt like years, years spent alone and unfound, years spent, as he had thought, forgotten.

One day, he’d decided he wasn’t going to give Grindelwald anything to come back to.

*

_He didn’t know how long Grindelwald had been away, didn’t know what had happened to him, whether he had succeeded or failed in his plans, whether he was chained up in a cell or reclining on a throne of bones. All Percival could understand was that Grindelwald hadn’t returned for a very long time, and when he finally did, if he finally did, Percival wasn’t going to be his prisoner, his toy to play with, any longer._

_All the sharp objects in the “house” were enchanted; Percival could use them to slice bread and cheese, but he couldn’t use them against himself. He could break the furniture, smash the pictures on the walls to bits, but when he tried to slice the broken glass across his skin, no wounds were created._

_Once, he tried to suffocate himself._

_There were several pairs of socks in his room, the room Grindelwald had created for him, and once he tried to stuff one far down his throat. He had panicked, and coughed it back up, and then vomited out of terror._

_He didn’t want to die so soon, and not like this. Not as a prisoner._

_He wasn’t afraid to die, but… he’d always thought it would be as a free man._

_But it had been years. He’d spent years in here, in this prison, and surely any moment now Grindelwald would return, and the torture, the humiliation, the rape, surely it would begin all over again._

_He couldn’t take it anymore._

_And so, with the last few shreds of his exhausted magic, he burned away every single hair, and he bore his nails down to stubs, and burned them too. The clothes Grindelwald had dressed him in, he burned them in the fireplace in the kitchen, and then he closed the kitchen door, and never opened it again._

_The key to the room upstairs was still in the keyhole. Percival locked himself inside. He sat down in the chair facing the window, and he never stood up._

_He was going to starve himself, he’d decided. It was going to take a long while, and it was going to be more painful that even Grindelwald’s torture had been, but he decided he was willing to face the agony. He was willing to face death, if that’s what it would take to be free._

_He didn’t want to die a prisoner._

_But at least, this way, he could die on his own terms._

*

Percival shivered, shaking his head, trying to clear his thoughts. It was all he could think about; the time he’d spent in his prison. And when he wasn’t thinking of it, he was thinking of the time he’d spent with his boy, a boy who wasn’t his any longer…

Percival turned on his side, facing the pocket doorway. He was lying in Tina Goldstein’s little bed, in Tina Goldstein’s little apartment, and Tina Goldstein was in the next room. He could see her by the stove, waiting for the kettle to boil. Every so often, she turned to look at him, and he would look away until she turned back to the kettle.

She looked at him now, and this time, he didn’t look away. This time, he regarded her coldly until she quickly looked away herself, her cheeks flushing pink.

He looked at the wall above her sister’s bed.

The two of them had horrible tastes in wallpaper.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Tina was looking at him again.

He realized he was too tired to care.

He also realized he was crying.

In the next room, the kettle began to squeal.

*

“That should be James,” Alma said, as she stepped past Beatrice into the living room. Beatrice followed suit, and headed before her friend to answer the door.

It _was_ James, sweet and wonderful James. Beatrice immediately smiled widely upon sight of him, stepping back to allow him in the apartment.

“Bea, Alma,” he nodded to the two of them, smiling. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, James,” Alma nodded back. Beatrice beamed.

“Oh, James, sveet und vunderful James.” She embraced him tightly. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Yer lucky I am, darl,” he drawled, grinning at her. “Things are crazy now down at Mac, after that whole fiasco last night. Aw bejesus, Bea, what… what happened?”

Beatrice sighed. “It’s… it’s complicated, James, very complicated. I… I…”

She sighed again. “I stuck my nose in ver it didn’t belong, iz vot I did. I hurt Percy, James. I hurt my friend, und…” she sniffed. “I don’t know if he could ever forgive me.”

“Bea…” James’ tone turned gentle. “Bea… what did you do?”

Beatrice sniffed again. She looked down. “It’s… it’s a long story, dear, a very long story.”

“Well, that’s alright-“

‘No, it’s not just that.” Beatrice put her hand on his arm. “It’s a secret, I mean. He und I have a secret, und I betrayed his trust. I did zumting I shouldn’t have, und I hurt him very much. I know it’s vague, I’m sorry James, but that’s all I can say.”

“A secret, ay?” James frowned a little. He glanced towards Alma. “Does she know?”

Beatrice looked at Alma too, now feeling a little embarrassed. “Um, _ja._ Yes, she does.”

“Yes I do,” Alma confirmed. “But Beatrice didn’t tell me. I only know because I Saw it happen. Their argument yesterday, I mean. And even then I only understand little.”

“Oh… okay,” James fell silent for a moment. “Alright, I get it. Sorry, luv, I’m still a bit confused about the whole… Sight… thing.”

Alma waved him off, chuckling. “Not to worry, young man. You’re not the first, not even the twentieth.”

 James nodded. He turned back to Beatrice.

“Well, that’s alright, darl,” he shrugged. “If you can’t tell me, that’s alright. I don’t wanna be the one ter go be’ind the Director’s back, anyhow…”

He trailed off, offering her a small smile. She smiled back.

“Beatrice?” Alma spoke up again. They both turned to her.

“Hmm?” Beatrice raised her eyebrows.

“We were going somewhere, remember?” Alma nodded at her.

“Oh, right,” Beatrice remembered. “Right, ve should git going.”

“Where er ya going?” James asked.

Beatrice turned to the hatstand; she picked up her cloche and slipped it on.

“Tina Goldstein’s apartment,” she replied, turning back to him. She adjusted her bag. “To see Percival. I’m going to fix things.”

“That’s right,” Alma smiled. She clapped her friend on the shoulder.

“Oh…” James raised his eyebrows. “Beatrice, uh… are yer sure that’s a good idea?”

Beatrice frowned. “Vot do you mean?”

“Well, I mean…” James blushed a little. “Look, Bea, if it just happened, well, maybe it’s best ter wait a while? Ter say sorry, I mean. If it’s Director Graves we’re talking ‘bout here, maybe it’s best just ter give him some toime. If things are really bad, there’s a chance he’s not gonna wanna see ya, luv.”

Beatrice nodded, hanging her head a little. “I know. I understand, dear. But… I have to try. I have to tell him I’m sorry.”

James nodded back. “I understand luv.”

He put his hand on her shoulder. “So, uh… would ya loike me ter come with ya?”

“Yes.” Beatrice immediately took his hand. “Yes, please come vit us.”

James smiled at her. He gave her hand a squeeze. “Of course, luv.”

*

Credence sat with Sara in the back of the grocery store, surrounded on all sides by shelves of goods. Canned, fresh, boxed, jarred, and tinned; Credence couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen so much food in one place.

Sara sipped at her drink; hot chocolate in a dixie cup. Abel had bought it for her, as well as tea for Credence, before heading home. That had been a while ago. Credence wondered how long it would be until he returned.

Sara touched her leg and winced. Credence tried not to look pitiful.

“How is it?” He asked gently. “Does it hurt?”

Sara grimaced. She frowned. She touched her leg again, and looked pained.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Yes it does.”

Credence almost spit out his drink. He ended up choking on it instead, and coughed for a good while, turning scarlet with embarrassment.

He was embarrassing her too, he realized, ashamed. She didn’t altogether like much attention, and he knew she would rather he act as though nothing had changed. He knew he was making her a little uncomfortable. He felt more embarrassed that ever.

Finally, he managed to quiet down. He took another sip of tea.

“I apologize,” he mumbled weakly. He stifled another cough, managing to regain his composure. “I’m sorry to hear that it hurts, Sara.”

He put his hand over hers. She managed a smile.

“Thank you, Credence.”

Her voice was soft and warm, and rather deep. It both calmed and excited Credence to hear it, to hear her speak for the first time.

He squeezed her hand.

She squeezed back.

*

Abel returned a short while later, bearing a finely carved cane, much to Sara’s chagrin.

Nevertheless, she seemed grateful as he held it out to her, and even managed a smile.

“Thank you, Abel,” she said quietly.

Abel blinked once. The corner of his lip twitched. “You’re welcome, dear.”

He leaned down and kissed her very hard. He kissed her again and again, folding his arms around her. He whispered something into Sara’s ear. Sara smiled.

Abel sniffed, and when he stood up again, Credence noticed tears in his friend’s eyes.

Sara looked down, still smiling. She took Abel’s hand. Credence did the same.

The two men helped Sara stand up from her chair, and Abel kept his arm around her as she leaned heavily on her cane. She winced, visibly in pain, but then she grit her teeth and began to walk.

As they began to leave the store, Sara kept one hand tightly wrapped around Credence’s. She walked stiffly, lips pursed with effort. It was apparent she had not done this for quite some time.

Luckily, the bus station was only a minute’s walk away. Abel made proper sure Sara was comfortable on the bench before running pack to fetch her things. Credence kept Sara company while he was gone.

“Why now?” He couldn’t help asking her. “I mean, what made you decide?”

Sara looked thoughtful for a moment. She put her hands over his.

“Later,” she said simply. “Not around all these people.”

The station was rather crowded, Credence observed. He nodded in understanding.

“Okay.”

*

They arrived home around an hour later. Sara sighed when she saw the stairs, but nevertheless she began to make her way up. Abel could barely stand to watch her struggle, and he could tell how much it was embarrassing her, and so he just decided to scoop her up in his arms and carry her the rest of the way.

Sara squealed a little when he picked her up, and batted him playfully with her cane, but she let him carry her up in peace. Credence followed with Sara’s things, the three of them laughing the whole way.

Abel didn’t put Sara down until they’d stepped inside their apartment, resting her gently on the loveseat.

“You old stinker,” she laughed, patting his cheek. She kissed him gently. “Thank you.”

Credence grinned at her. It was always so pleasant to see her smile, and he’d never seen her this joyous. He wondered what could have brought on the change.

Abel kissed Sara back, smiling. He sat beside her on the loveseat, holding her close. Credence joined them, squeezing in next to Abel.

“You can’t imagine how happy I am to see you like this,” Abel murmured to his friend. He kissed her again. “What changed, dear Sara? Where have you been?”

“Oh, Abel,” Sara blushed. “I’ve been here all this time.”

Abel’s lip twitched. Sara looked down.

“I know what you mean,” she said quietly. “You’re right, in a way, I have been missing.”

She took his hand, lifting it up to kiss his knuckles.

“You see, well…” Sara looked thoughtful. “Abel, while I was waiting for you to come from the bakery, I realized, what if they had killed me?”

“Sara!” Abel looked astonished.

“Abel, don’t pull that face,” Sara pursed her lips. “You know it could’ve happened, of course it could have. They’re white. I’m black. What more is there to say?”

“Sara…” Abel squeezed her hand.

Credence felt shocked. She talked about this so blatantly, she barely even seemed like it would surprise her if those men _had_ tried to kill her. Was such behaviour really that common?

Sara sighed. “And, I realized also, if they had, I would’ve died like this.” She gestured to herself. “I would’ve died… unhappy.”

Credence reached past Abel, to take Sara’s other hand. She smiled at him.

“I don’t want to die like this,” she continued. “I don’t want to die without living again, without being happy again. And I realized, there was nothing stopping me from speaking again, from taking that first step. Credence, you helped me realize that.” She squeezed Credence’s hand.

“And Abel,” she turned back to her friend. “Abel, I know you would’ve helped me, if you’d been there that night. And what happened to me, it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.”

“Sara…” Abel began to weep. “Dear Sara…”

He pulled her into his embrace, weeping into her shoulder. “Oh, dear Sara. I’ve missed you.”

“I’m here,” she murmured, kissing him. “I’m here.”

They held each other tightly.

Credence decided to leave them be. He stood up and wandered into the kitchen, where he then set about making some tea.

He was glad to see Sara like this, to see her open and smiling. He hoped one day, sooner rather than later, he would be able to see her happy.

*

Credence made all of them tea, black for him and Abel and herbal for Sara. Sara put on a record, and began to sing along, much to her friends’ delight. She had a lovely voice.

Abel sat next to Credence on the loveseat. He leaned his head on Credence’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” he whispered. He kissed Credence’s neck. Credence giggled, ticklish.

He kissed Abel on the cheek. Abel kissed him again, initiating more laughter.

Sara decided to take a nap a little while later, rightfully exhausted by how the day had turned out. She kissed them both before heading into her room, leaving the door open.

Abel and Credence stayed huddled on the loveseat, finishing their drinks. Abel touched Credence’s cheek.

“Thank you,” he said again, his dark eyes shining. “Credence, I… I can’t even begin to thank you. You helped bring her back to me.”

Credence smiled at his friend, feeling a little teary. Today had actually turned out so well.

“I… there were times when I wondered if she would ever speak again, if she would ever come back to me,” Abel continued. He wiped away a tear. “I’m so glad you were here. You brought her back to me.”

Credence blushed, looking down. He put his hand over Abel’s. “It was so nice to hear her voice. It’s so nice to see her happy.”

Abel laughed. He kissed Credence gently. Credence kissed him back.

Abel continued to kiss him, on his forehead, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. He kissed Credence’s neck, making Credence giggle.

“Dance with me…” Abel murmured, continuing to kiss Credence. Credence looked at him in surprise, wondering if he’d heard right.

“Huh?”

Abel looked back up at him, smiling kindly. “Credence… will you dance with me?”

The radio was still playing, a soft jazzy tune that would be perfect to dance to. Blushing scarlet, Credence smiled and nodded. He wouldn’t mind dancing with Abel.

“Okay.”

Abel grinned at him. He stood up and picked up the coffee table, and walked around to set it behind the couch, giving them more room to dance. Credence giggled.

He smiled shyly as Abel took his hand, moving closer to put his arm around Credence. Credence put his hand on Abel’s shoulder, the way partners do in a waltz. He looked down, blushing redder than ever.

Abel smiled down at him; he kissed his forehead. “Have you danced before?” He asked gently, beginning to sway.

Credence swayed with him. He looked back up at his friend.

“A little,” he replied, smiling. “A long time ago…”

The two stepped and swayed slowly, not wanting to stumble against a chair. Abel held Credence close to him, pressed flush against his chest. They held hands tightly. They kept their eyes only on each other, as if they were the only two people in the world.

“Credence…” Abel murmured.

“Abel…” Credence murmured at the same time.

Credence felt a warmth in his chest begin to blossom as they danced, as if someone had lit a candle in his heart. He couldn’t stop looking at Abel, at the light in his eyes, the dimples in his cheeks, his chapped lips. He couldn’t stop looking at his lips.

Why?

And why did this all feel so familiar?

“Credence…” Abel said again. His voice was so quiet.

“Yes?” Credence looked into Abel’s eyes, his dark beautiful eyes. There was something in them he couldn’t quite read.

“Credence, I…” Abel licked his lips. Credence’s eyes followed the movement. “I…”

He sighed. “Thank you, again. Thank you for helping my friend.”

Credence blinked. He looked down, suddenly feeling… disappointed? But why?

He looked back up at his friend. “You’re welcome, Abel.”

The room suddenly felt a little awkward. Credence squeezed Abel’s hand, beginning to move again. He hadn’t even realized they’d stopped.

He looked into Abel’s eyes as they continued to dance, eyes that gazed intently back into his. He seemed morose.

Credence pursed his lips. Abel wanted to tell him something, he knew, he’d wanted to tell him something for a few days now. But every time, he… he just… he didn’t? What was it he wanted to say? He knew he could trust Credence, right?

“Abel, you can trust me,” he murmured, squeezing his friend’s hand again. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Abel managed a smile. He kissed Credence gently. “I know, sweet. I know, but…”

“What is it?” Credence pressed. “Is something wrong? Please, dear, please tell me. Maybe I can help?”

He’d just called Abel “dear”, he realized. He didn’t think he’d ever done that before.

Abel looked just as surprised as he felt. He blinked several times, before managing another smile.

“Nothing’s wrong, really,” he said gently. He put his hand on Credence’s cheek. “I’m fine, sweet. I promise.”

Credence pursed his lips again. He knew something was off, but he didn’t want to pry. He didn’t want to make his friend uncomfortable.

“Okay,” he said. He managed a smile. “Okay.”

Abel smiled back, a real smile. He kissed Credence again.

Credence smiled. He put his arms around Abel’s neck, swaying a little slower. Now they were merely turning around, slowly, slowly, in a tiny circle. Credence could barely hear the music anymore, over the sound of his own thumping heart.

“Abel…” he whispered. There was something he wanted to tell Abel too, but he didn’t quite know exactly what it was.

“Credence…” Abel replied. He moved closer to Credence, holding him tightly.

They were so close now, almost as close as they’d been the other night. Credence wondered if Abel could feel his heartbeat.

The song drifted to an end, and then another one began to play. Credence smiled.

“Abel,” he began, remembering something then. “Abel, I believe it’s my turn to tell you a story.”

Abel cocked his head. He smiled. “Ah, that’s right…

“Would you like to sit down?” He asked.

“No,” Credence shook his head, smiling back. He kissed Abel’s cheek. “This is nice.”

Abel blushed.

“Okay,” Credence looked down shyly. There was so much to tell, so much that had happened. And what with all the magical aspects of it… he hoped Abel wouldn’t think he was making things up, that he was poking fun at him. Credence was serious about this. He wanted Abel to know who he was, and… he hoped beyond hope that Abel would still love him once he was finished.

And so, swaying together in their little circle, Credence told Abel his story. As the music continued to drift from the gramophone, Credence talked, and when the final song played its last notes, Credence was still talking. He told Abel of his adoption, of his life at the church. He talked about his ma and her mistreatment of him and his sisters. He talked about the little magic he’d once had, magic that had been whipped away with his own iron-buckled belt. He talked about the many times he’d wanted to die, how he’d tried once, but stopped once the kitchen knife had just pierced his skin.

“Thank God,” Abel swept him into a hug then, holding him tighter than ever, crying into his shoulder. “Thank the lord and saviour. My boy. My sweet. My dear.”

“I’m here,” Credence whispered, crying himself. “I’m here. I’m alive.”

Abel kissed him gently. Credence kissed him back.

He continued to talk. He began to talk about Percival.

Abel’s eyes widened as he began to speak of their relationship. He listened intently as Credence told him of their friendship, friendship that had turned to love, love that Credence had very much needed. When he began to cry, Abel held him against his chest, and kissed him again and again. He ran his fingers through Credence’s hair.

Abel seemed rather concerned when Credence began to speak of Percival’s disappearance, and then very confused when Credence talked about that evil man’s replacement of him, but he appeared to catch on quickly enough. He was very solemn when Credence talked about his rape, and he kissed him and held him for a good while once Credence was finished.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled against Credence’s skin, kissing him again and again. “My dear, my sweet, I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

Credence wiped his eyes. He sniffed. “I’m okay,” he murmured, kissing Abel gently back. “My dear, I promise I’m okay.”

Abel couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t stop kissing him. “My dear… my sweet…”

He held Credence tightly, crying into his hair. “Oh, my sweet.”

“I’m here,” Credence whispered. “I’m okay. I promise. I’m always okay when I’m with you.”

Abel exhaled heavily, sighing against his neck. The sensation sent chills down Credence’s spine.

He managed to keep speaking, through his tears and shaky breaths. He was trembling so hard now, so eager and frightened to get it all off his chest; he felt like he was going to fall over. But then Abel held him close enough to actually pick him up off the ground, cradling him gently against his chest.

He cried out in surprise, tightening his arms around Abel’s neck. He didn’t want to fall.

“It’s alright, my dear,” Abel murmured to him. He walked over to the loveseat and sat down, still holding Credence in his arms. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

Credence laughed shortly, feeling a little giddy. He tucked his head into the crook of Abel’s shoulder.

And then he kept talking, telling Abel about that last day. He talked about murdering his own family, about what he’d thought to be Mister Graves’ betrayal. He talked about what happened that night in the subway. He told Abel about Miss Tina and how she’d tried to help him, how she’d tried to protect him from the imposter. He talked about being struck down by other wizards, and how he’d thought they’d killed him. He talked about his time as a mass without a host, his time as a monster. He talked about the night Abel found him, how it had made him feel to be called beautiful.

“Did you really think that?” Credence asked quietly, feeling a little shy. He interlaced their fingers together. “Did you really think I was… beautiful?”

Abel, for one, looked rather horrified, but he managed to smile. “Y-yes… Yes, I did.”

He kissed Credence gently. “I still do.”

Credence blushed. He looked down, smiling a little.

Abel knew who he was now.

And he still thought he was beautiful.

“Th-thank you,” Credence whispered his voice shaking. He gripped at Abel’s shirt. “I-I… I was so afraid th-that, that you would hate me.”

Abel put his arms around Credence. He kissed Credence’s forehead.

“I don’t blame you,” he whispered. “It’s… well, I don’t even know how to describe what it is, but I don’t blame you. It’s not your fault that you were scared.”

Credence took a shaky breath. “I was, I was so scared.”

He sniffed. He was starting to cry again, though out of relief this time. Abel didn’t hate him. Abel still loved him. And he thought Credence was beautiful.

And so Credence, encouraged, leaned forward and kissed Abel ever-so-gently on the mouth.

And Abel kissed him ever-so-tenderly back.

Credence sighed, pleased, both with himself and his bravery, and with Abel and his reaction. He was so relieved Abel still cared about him, still loved him. But knowing Abel, how kind and good and pure the older man was, it seemed silly now that he wouldn’t still care about Credence. And now, thinking back, Credence wondered how he could have ever thought different.

Although his friend didn’t necessarily seem to understand the story fully, at least, not about the whole magical aspects of it all, Credence could tell Abel believed him, and for that he was glad.

*

A little while later, after a good time spent cuddling and kissing quietly, Abel headed into the kitchen to prepare something to eat. Credence stayed on the little couch and watched him go.

Once his friend had disappeared into the kitchen, Credence touched his lips. Abel had just kissed him so much and so many times, had kissed his lips, and now Credence touched them.

Abel’s kiss was nice; his lips were soft and tasted like oranges and chocolate. Credence wondered what his own lips tasted like. He wondered if Abel liked his kisses as much as he liked Abel’s, if he enjoyed kissing Credence as much as Credence did.

He hoped so.

*

In the kitchen, Abel began to slice tomato.

He blushed, thinking of the way Credence had kissed him.

He frowned, thinking of Credence’s story. It had been some story.

By all means, he realized then, Credence was a murderer. Abel had a murderer in his home.

A murderer that he was madly in love with.

Abel shook his head, grinning stupidly. He’d never thought his life would turn out to be some demented Jane Austen novel.

He shook his head again, turning serious. This was a serious matter. Credence had killed people. Killed humans. Killed his family.

Abel frowned.

No. From the way his boy had described them, those people hadn’t been his family. Not really.

The woman who’d called herself his mother? She’d beaten him. It was because of her, he thought, that his boy had been so afraid of them those first few weeks. It was because of her that Credence had expected Abel to hit him that night, when he’d handled Abel the wooden spoon.

And his sister, Chasity was her name. She’d stood by and let it happen. Let their mother hurt him and his sister and the rest of those children. That wasn’t family. That was a tyranny. What that woman had done to his boy, it had been the same as what that woman from the monastery had done to him and his dear Sara. Abel wouldn’t lie, he’d thought many times in those days what it would be like to kill her, to be free of her torture. He wouldn’t blame Credence for thinking the same. And if he’d had no control, then really, it was hardly his fault at all.

Abel tutted, ashamed with himself. How quick he’d been to label his boy a common murderer, when Abel knew firsthand that Credence was nothing of the sort. Credence was sweet, and kind, and good, and beautiful, and…

Abel sighed.

And perfect.

And it wasn’t his fault that he’d been frightened. It wasn’t his fault at all.

Abel used his knife to slide the tomato over to one side; he then began to slice some small pickles.

“Lord and saviour,” he mumbled.

He thought about the man Credence had talked about. Percival Graves, he’d said his name was. Credence had talked about being intimate with this man, about having a romantic relationship.

Abel smiled then, smiled from ear to ear. This meant that Credence was a homosexual. This… this meant that Abel had a chance!

He beamed up at the ceiling, up towards his God. He blew a kiss upwards.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

He closed his eyes, suddenly tearful. Time and time again, he’d faced rejection, and disgust. Time and time again, he’d fallen in love only to end up heartbroken and humiliated. He’d been beaten for it several times by men he’d once been close with. Time and time again, he always ended up alone.

But Credence was here, and he was gay. He was gay. And Abel had a chance.

The tears slipped down Abel’s face, though he was still smiling from ear to ear. He was smiling so wide his jaw ached.

He had a chance.

He had a chance.

He might find happiness after all.

Abel laughed shakily, wiping at his eyes. He ran his tongue over his lips, tasting the salty tears.

Credence had just kissed his lips, had kissed him ever-so-tenderly.

His kiss was so gentle. His lips had been so soft.

Abel touched his lips, staring off into space. He traced over his lips, remembering how it had felt to kiss his boy.

He’d felt like he could hold the world in his hands. He’d felt like he could fly.

He wondered how it had made Credence feel.

He closed his eyes, dropping his hand to his side. He smiled.

And then he sighed. He opened his eyes.

It was all just friendly to Credence, wasn’t it? The kisses they shared, to him it was no different to the kisses he and Sara shared, wasn’t it?

But… the way they held each other, the way Credence took his hand, the way he looked at Abel sometimes… sometimes, from Credence’s side, it felt more than friendly. The way he’d kissed Abel the other night, their first night together, it had felt like a real kiss. A romantic kiss. It had felt like love.

Abel leaned back against the bench, wondering.

He wondered if Credence knew how he felt.

Sara knew. Beatrice knew. That madwoman who’d come to their home a few days ago, she’d only known them several minutes, but she knew.

Did Credence know too?

And if he did… was there a chance he could he possibly return Abel’s feelings?

Abel sighed, touching his lips again.

There was one way to know.

Abel sighed again. He picked up the knife and continued to slice his pickle.

He wouldn’t ask. In the past, that had never gone well. And while he knew for certain that Credence would never hurt him, if he didn’t return Abel’s feelings, it would only end in embarrassment. Things would become so awkward for them. And… there was always the chance that Credence would think he was disgusting.

Abel didn’t want that. He wouldn’t wish it for the world.

And… he was fine with keeping his feelings secret. He still treasured their relationship, very much so. It was one of the closest relationships he’d had. He didn’t want to ruin that. And besides, Credence still seemed happy to kiss him, to cuddle with him at night. He wouldn’t wish that away for anything.

But still, there was a chance. A chance that Credence did love him. Abel wasn’t going to ask, but even then, the chance was there.

And maybe one day, hopefully, Abel could kiss him for real.

Abel sighed again. He smiled.

One day.

Hopefully.

He wondered then if Credence would like a sandwich as well.

He asked him.

Credence did.

Abel put on the kettle.


	24. Chapter 24

Percival sat silently at the little table, clutching a warm mug in his hands. Tina had prepared tea for him some time ago, and it smelt quite nice, but he had yet to take a sip.

He sighed, pushing the mug around with his hands. The tea swirled around inside the mug, lapping at the sides, spilling over the rim. He sighed again, looking at the little puddles on the wood. He waved his hand over them, willing them to disappear, to vanish, to leave the table clean.

Nothing happened.

Percival swore under his breath, bringing his fist down on the wood with a hard thump. He swore again, burying his head in his hands.

He needed something a lot stronger than tea.

“Mr Graves?”

Tina’s voice.

Percival didn’t look up, unable to bear having to see her face. He didn’t want to see her worry, her pity. He knew she pitied him, but it still despised him to see it.

He removed his hands, but he didn’t look at her. He kept his head turned, looking at the mug as he picked it up. He took a sip and grimaced. It was too sweet, far too sweet for his liking, but he kept silent. He was burdening her enough already.

He heard Tina clear her throat. “Mr Graves,” she said again, “Mr Graves, if… if you’re going to be staying here tonight, I, uh, I’ll have to go purchase some more food. You can, um, you can join me, if you like.”

Percival looked at her.

She wasn’t looking at him, her gaze fixated on a point above the stove, but she _did_ look worried. She was biting her lip, her brows were furrowed; her hands were clasped together stiffly.

He looked away again, realizing then it wasn’t him she was worried for.

She was worried about herself.

He sighed.

She’d found it hard to look at him since they’d found him. Though she smiled at him, talked openly with him, tried to act as though nothing had changed, she always stood just a little too far away, her eyes never really meeting his. When she thought he wasn’t looking, he could see her tearing up as she helped her sister in the kitchen, hear her heavy breaths as she left his bedroom, notice how she tensed whenever he stepped just a little too close.

Despite herself, she was afraid of him. When she looked at him, she didn’t really see him anymore, but what Grindelwald had done to her. When she looked at him, she saw the face of the man who had sent her to her death, the man who had hurt her friends, who had tried to kill the man with whom she had fallen in love. When she looked at him, she saw a monster.

“Goldstein,” he began softly. “Be honest with me. Do… do you really want me to come?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her glance at him.

He looked back at her.

She breath in sharply, looking away. Very slowly, she shook her head.

“No, Mr Graves,” she whispered. “I don’t. I’m sorry.”

Percival looked down, swallowing hard. “I understand.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” he said sharply, unable to take it. “Don’t… don’t apologize to me, Goldstein.”

He looked away from her, sighing. He wasn’t angry at her. He never could find it in himself to be angry at her. If anything, he was plagued by his guilt. If… if he’d been stronger that day, fought harder, he felt he could’ve escaped. And Tina wouldn’t be afraid of him. And everyone wouldn’t treat him like a stranger, like an enemy, even.

And he would still have his boy.

Percival took another sip of his tea, trying not to grimace again. He didn’t dare to ask for coffee.

“There’s no need to go out, Goldstein,” he said quietly. “I won’t take up your time much longer. There’s… there’s some things I need to do.”

“But…” Tina cocked her head, confused. “But sir, where will you go? Where will you stay, tonight?”

So she _was_ worried about him. That meant she didn’t hate him, at least.

Percival put down his cup. “Well, Goldstein, for starters, I think I could do with several fingers of whiskey.”

When he didn’t continue, she pressed on. “And then?”

Percival hesitated. “I…” his voice lowered. “I don’t know.”

Tina frowned, stepping towards him. The state he was in; she knew better than to leave him alone. Not at a time like this. “Sir, the moment you let me bring you here, you assigned yourself into my care. With all due respect, I’m not about to let you leave without a companion, without me.”

“Goldstein, I am a grown man,” Percival snapped, a little too loudly.

Tina flinched visibly. Percival grimaced.

“I can take care of myself, just fine. I don’t need your help,” the words were tumbling out his mouth now, harsher than he meant, making him feel worse than ever. “I have had enough of safehouses and protection and being treated like an invalid.”

He rose from his seat and stepped away from the table, making his way towards the door. He felt tears prickling in his eyes. He suddenly couldn’t stand to be around her. “I have had enough of being treated like a child.”

“Sir, wait, please,” Tina stepped towards him, stepped back.

“Goodbye, Goldstein,” he put his hand on the doorknob, opened the door.

Beatrice was on the other side, hand raised to knock. She gasped at the sight of him.

Percival flinched at the sight of her, stepping back in surprise.

“Wh-what…” he cleared his throat, his voice raspy with shock. “What are you doing here?”

“Who is it?” Tina walked forward, momentarily forgetting her fear. “Beatrice?”

“Hello, Percival,” Beatrice murmured, looking down.

Percival looked between her and Tina, feeling trapped. What was she doing here?

Beatrice looked at Tina uncomfortably. “May I come in?”

“Uh…” Tina fumbled for words. This was such an unfamiliar situation. She didn’t know how to handle it. “Um, okay…”

“No!” Percival shouted at the same time, backing away. His arm grazed against Tina’s and both of them flinched away from each other. He backed up against the wall. “No, no, nonononono, no, you can’t come in.”

“Percival, please.” Beatrice stepped inside the apartment, walking towards him. “Please, I need to talk to you.”

“Beatrice, maybe you should go.” Tina stepped forward fretfully.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Percival said tightly, stepping away from his former friend. “You’ve done enough, said enough. I don’t want anything from you.”

Beatrice hung her head. “I know. Darling, I know. I vont to fix it, all ov it. I’m so sorry for vot I‘ve done.

“Don’t apologize to me,” he growled, still stepping back. “What’s done is done, Beatrice. You hurt me. You broke my heart.”

“I know.” She sniffed, her eyes filling up. He realized he was crying too. “I know vot I did. I vish I could take it back, if only I could take it all back.”

“Well, you can’t.” He stopped backing away, standing his ground. Despite how much it hurt him to see her now, he didn’t want her to see what she’d done to him. He didn’t want her to have that power over him.

“Kramer, what you did can’t be undone.” He said coldly, swallowing hard. He turned away from her, unable to bear having to look at her. “And… I can’t forgive you for what you did.”

Thankfully, she stopped moving too, remaining several feet away from him. Tina stood behind her, now merely spectating how things would turn out.

She sniffed again, tears running down her cheeks. “I know you don’t vont to hear it, but… Percy, I’m sorry. I… I can’t truly convey how sorry I am for vot I did. I know it voz unforgivable. And…” she gulped, stifling a sob. “If you never vont to see me again, I von’t blame you. I could never forgive me either. But I _am_ sorry, Percy, und if you ever do find it in yourself to forgive me, I vill spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you, trying to be the friend I should have been.”

She broke down completely then, crying. Tina stepped forward, and then back again, wanting to comfort her friend, but not wanting to seem like she was taking sides. She didn’t want Mr Graves to become angry with her.

Percival turned away from her, unable to bear it, unable to bear any of it. He backed away, raising a hand to wipe his eyes.

He had to get out of here.

He circled past them, around the table. Beatrice looked as he passed, reaching out to him. He flinched away from her.

“Percy!” She cried desperately. “Percy, vait!”

Despite himself, he stopped at the door. He didn’t know why.

“Percy, I…” she swallowed hard, coughed. “I can take you to see him. Let me do that for you, at least.”

Percival scoffed, disgusted. “If you think you’re going to win me back with something you never should’ve taken away from me in the first place, then you’re sorely mistaken, Kramer.”

Beatrice flinched.

Percival grimaced. He grabbed his cane from where it was leaning against the wall. “Don’t ever try to contact me again, either of you,” he said coldly. “I’ve had enough.”

He rushed out of the building, not once looking back.

*

Beatrice left the apartment a short while later, feeling somewhat in a daze. James and Alma were still waiting outside the building, both of them seated on a bench and deep in conversation. Beatrice felt she could weep at the sight of them, her friends, two of her closest friends in the world.

Alma noticed her first, and waved her over to them. When James saw the look on her face, he immediately stood up to embrace her.

She held him tightly, filled to the brim with emotion. There was so much she needed to say, but all she could manage, in the tiniest voice, was, “hello.”

“How did it go?” James asked gently, pulling back to look at her. He ran his fingers through her hair.

Beatrice looked down, tucking her head against his shoulder. “Oh James, it was awful.”

James kissed her forehead. “Why don’t we all go and get some ice cream, huh? You can tell us all about it.”

Beatrice hugged him tighter. It was so good to hear his voice, something warm and familiar. “ _Danke_ ,” she said quietly, managing a smile. “That sounds nice.”

He kissed her again, on the cheek this time. “ _Tá fáilte romhat_.”

*

It was a quarter of an hour later, when they were seated in a parlour and indeed eating ice cream, that Beatrice began her story. She spoke of the pact she and Percival had created following his wife’s death, a promise to stay by each other’s side, to protect each other through thick and thin. Through tears, she spoke of the way he had looked at her when she broke his trust, explaining what she had done. She didn’t say exactly what it was that she had done to Percival, not wanting to break his trust further by revealing his secret, but she told them simply, “I betrayed his trust, in the vurst possible way. I kept zumting from him, putting my own safety over his happiness. Needless to say, vot I did… I broke his heart.”

Beatrice sniffed. “He told me I voz never to speak to him, again. Ten years of friendship, I never imagined it vood be I who vood tear it all apart.”

She wiped her eyes. She’d been crying so much these past couple of days. She couldn’t remember crying this much in a year.

“I tried to fix it, really I did, but he voodn’t listen to me.” She sniffed again. “But I don’t blame him. I don’t think I vood forgive me either.”

She gulped down a sob. “But… I… I don’t want to lose him!”

She leaned over the table, burying her head in her hands, crying. James leaned forward, putting his arm around her shoulder. She leaned against him, crying harder than ever.

“You did all you could,” he murmured, trying to comfort her. “It’s gonna be alright. Just… just give it some toime.”

Beatrice sniffed.

Alma put her hand over her friend’s. “Things are going to be alright, dear. I know, I can See it happening.”

Beatrice looked up in surprise. “Y-you do?”

Alma smiled comfortingly. “I do.”

She was speaking earnestly, honestly, but still Beatrice felt doubtful at her words. “But… if you’d seen the vay he, _looked_ at me…”

Alma patted her hand. “I never said it wouldn’t take time, dear. It could take weeks, months, but it will happen. I can See it.”

Beatrice clutched her friend’s hands, overwhelmed with relief, suddenly unable to speak. She felt then a great weight lifting from her shoulders, a sort of hold loosening on her heart. If what Alma was saying was to be true, then… that meant she had a chance.

Perhaps she hadn’t lost Percival after all.

*

The three of them parted ways a few hours later, after spending some time walking together in Central Park. Alma wanted to do some sightseeing, but Beatrice felt too tired to join her, so she wandered off on her own, with the promise to meet Beatrice for lunch the next day. A little while after that, James decided he had to get back to the offices. Beatrice, still on work leave and with nothing much to do, decided to join him. She was tired, yes, but she didn’t really want to return home.

The two of them headed to the bus station hand in hand. Beatrice didn’t feel much like talking, so James filled in the silence with mindless chatter, about the breakfast he’d had that morning, and how his dogs were doing back home. As they waited for the bus, seated together on the bench, she pressed her knee against his, and he gave her hand a squeeze.

She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. He chattered away in his Irish drawl, about films he’d watched recently, and some interesting books he’d read he thought she might like, and how the old woman living in the flat next to him had baked him a cherry pie the previous night, and just ordinary, trivial matters of the like. Beatrice listened to it all as intently as she could, grateful for the distraction from the current matters at hand, but fairly soon she found her mind drifting to those current matters, to Percival and Credence, and where they were, and whether or not they were alright.

She had guessed by now that Credence had most likely made his way to the bakery, to find comfort in Abel and possibly Sara as well. It was afternoon now. She wondered whether they were still at the bakery, if Credence was indeed there at all, or if they’d gone home by now. She wondered if Credence had told Abel what had happened, about their fight. From his reaction to her story that morning, it seemed rather plausible that he’d decided to be done with secrets.

No, that was different. Credence hadn’t done anything Abel behind his back. Not like she had to him.

Beatrice sighed. She pressed her knee against James’, trying to distract herself again, with his talk of the pie and how good it had tasted, and whether or not she wanted to come for dinner and have a slice.

That sounded nice, but where was Percival?

She frowned.

She knew he most certainly wouldn’t return to the safehouse, not after all that had happened. But he couldn’t return to his… his home, he knew that. It wasn’t just that it was a crime scene; he’d confided in her that he didn’t think he’d ever be able to return to his former apartment, not after Grindelwald had slept in his bed, and cooked in his kitchen, and _“touched everything he could get his hands on. He touched Lily’s things.”_

So where was he? Where had he gone?

And where would he sleep tonight?

“Yer thinking ‘bout Director Graves, aren’t ya?” James asked.

Beatrice looked up with a start; she’d been lost in her thoughts. She cleared her throat, quickly regaining her composure.

“I’m vurried about him,” she said quietly. “He shouldn’t be out by himself, not vile… not vile he’s like the vay he iz. Und… verr iz he going to stay tonight? I know he von’t return to dat house, not for the life ov him. But… he’s got noverr else to go.”

“Well,” James sighed, thinking. “He’s… he’s not a kid, Bea. I mean, he’s an intelligent man. I’m sure he can work stuff out. I’m sure he’s got somewhere ter go.”

Beatrice furrowed her brows. “I know, but… he’s changed, James. What Grindelvald did to him, it changed him. He’s not the man he voz before. I… I guess it’s not a qvestion of verr he can go, but who he can trust. Und.. after vot I did to him, how iz he supposed to trust anyvun?”

She looked down, feeling that hold on her heart begin to tighten once more. “I broke hiz heart, James. He voz already broken, but somehow I managed to break him further.”

James gave her hand a squeeze. He looked into her eyes. “I… I don’t really what ter say ter that, luv, but… if yer really that worried, why don’t ya go ter the President about it? They’re… they’re friends, aren’t they? I mean, they get along?”

Beatrice nodded. The two of them were friendly, though she didn’t know how much. The President liked to keep her all relationships rather confidential, be them platonic or romantic, though Beatrice didn’t know why. Nevertheless, it had been the President to organize Percival’s transfer to the safehouse, so Beatrice was sure that she must care about his wellbeing.

“Well, then why don’t ya ask her ter keep an eye out for him?” James suggested, offering her a smile. “If there’s anyone he can trust, that any of us can, it’s certainly the President, ain’t it?”

Beatrice nodded again, clearing her throat. “I suppose so,” she mumbled, though she fully agreed. While the President could often come across as rather cold and aloof, she was indeed a genuinely good woman, with all of their best interests at heart.

“Okay,” she continued. “I’ll talk to her, ven ve get to the offices.”

James gave her hand a squeeze. “I’ll come with ya, if ya loike.”

Beatrice squeezed back. “I vood.”

*

But when they entered the offices, James was called away on an appointment, and so Beatrice made her way to the President's office alone.

Her word with the President was short but effective. The president had important matters to attend to, as she informed Beatrice when the younger woman stepped through the door, and she could only speak for a handful of minutes.

“Before you begin, if this is about what happened last night, you can spare me the gory details, Kramer,” the President stated just as Beatrice opened her mouth to speak. “I understand how close you two are,” she continued, straightening a stack of papers. “What happened between the two of you is none of my concern.”

Beatrice was speechless for just a moment. “It-it’s not about that, Madam President,” she mumbled, stepping forward into the room. “That is, that’s not vot I’ve come to speak vit you about.”

The President peered at her over the rim of her spectacles, something Beatrice had never seen her where. Pulling them off with one hand, she set down the papers and leaned back in her chair.

“Well then, what is it, Kramer?” She asked.

Beatrice cleared her throat. “It’s about Percival, Madam. He, vell, he’s disappeared, and I’m vurried about him. I don’t know verr he’s gone.”

“Kramer, Percival Graves is a grown man.” The President cocked her brow at Beatrice. “While I would personally prefer to keep him under supervision, it’s his choice whether he wants to return to the safehouse or find lodgings elsewhere. I’m sure he can look after himself.”

“But’s that the problem, Madam,” Beatrice stepped forward. “I… I’m not sure he _can_ look after himself. I mean,” Beatrice fumbled for words. “You see, Percival… is not… okay. He’s… not himself. And… the state he’s in, I don’t think he can take care of himself. I… I’m _afraid_ … that… he might try… to hurt himself.”

The President regarded her fully now, her brows furrowing. “What… what do you mean by that, Kramer?”

Beatrice swallowed, a little hesitant to continue speaking. “He’s… not okay, Madam President,” she said quietly, avoiding the older woman’s gaze. “He’s not well. I… I just need to know that he’s safe.”

Madam Picquery tsked. She chewed on her bottom lip, looking thoughtful. “Very well… if you have genuine concerns, Kramer, then I’ll send Porter and Johnson out to look for him. We’ll let you know when we find him.”

Beatrice relaxed a little, grateful. “Thank you, Madam President.”

The President gave her a little nod, before turning her gaze back down to her papers. Beatrice took that as her cue to leave.

“Thank you,” she said again, as she stepped back towards the door. As she made to exit the room, the President spoke again.

“One more thing, Kramer.”

Beatrice turned to look at her.

The President sighed. “Auror Goldstein told me what happened last night. When we do find Graves, if we find him, perhaps it’s best you… keep your distance.”

Beatrice pursed her lips, looking down. She nodded. “I understand.”

The President regarded her for a moment. “Try not to take it too hard, Kramer,” she said kindly. “I’ve rarely seen bonds like the one you two share. I’m sure things will be back to normal soon.

Beatrice managed a little smile, grateful for the comforting words. “Thank you, Madam President.”

“You’re very welcome, Kramer.” The President sat up straight again, and slipped on her spectacles. “Was that all?”

Beatrice nodded. “Yes, Madam President.”

“Very well. You can go.”

*

“How was it?” James asked her a few minutes later, as she made herself comfortable in his office chair. She curled up like a cat, hiding her head in her arm, tucking her feet underneath her.

“It voz fine.” She mumbled, glancing up at him under her arm. He grinned at her, and she smiled back.”

“Well, that’s good to hear, luv,” he drawled, leaning against his desk. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t ya worry, I’m sure they’ll find Director Graves soon, and we can all sleep well tonight.”

She hummed, putting her hand over his. “I hope so.”

He gave her hand a squeeze, regarding her silently.

“How ‘bout you?” He asked gently. “How are ya faring?”

She hummed again, considering his question.

“Tired,” she eventually replied.

James chuckled. “Yeah, I can understand why.”

He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Well, I got some stuff I need ter get done, but yer welcome ter stay here as long as ya loike. Tell ya what-“

He stood back and waved his wand, conjuring up a blanket. He spread it over her, tucking it in at her sides. “Why don’t ya take a nap, huh luv? I’ll be back in a little while. You rest till then.”

“James.”

“Hmm?” He smiled at her. She looked troubled.

She sighed, reaching out to touch his hand. “James, you… you don’t haff to be so kind to me. I don’t deserve it.”

“Bea…”

“I mean it, James.” She looked down, brows furrowing. “If… if you knew, if you really knew vot I’ve done...”

“Okay, Bea?” James regarded her seriously. “Listen, I… I don’t know what ya did. That’s fine, I don’t need ter know. But whatever it is, no matter how bad it was, I’m not just gonna start demonizing ya over it. Look, yer already beating yerself up about it too much, I don’t wanna add to that. Bea…”

He gave her hand a squeeze.

“Yer my best friend, Bea.” He smiled at her. “I’m on yer side, remember?”

Beatrice stared at him for a long while, practically speechless. After all that had happened, after all that she had done, she’d hardly expected to still be in people’s favour. She’d been so wrapped up in the events of the past day, she’d almost forgotten she still had friends she hadn’t betrayed. But here was James now, her best friend, telling her he was on her side, and that meant more than the world.

She grasped his hand, blinking back tears. _“Ich lieb dich.”_

He raised his eyebrows; surprised, but then he smiled. He leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. “ _Is breá liom tú ró.”_

*

She did indeed take a nap, so exhausted was she, and awoke several hours later, feeling rested but horribly cramped. She spent a good while stretching out her sore muscles, willing away the crick in her neck with a wave of her hand, before looking out the window.

It was late evening.

Later, as James began to pack up his desk to head home, Beatrice decided she wouldn’t spend the night.

“I’ve been avay for so long, and I haven’t been around much in the past few days,” she explained to him, as she watched him slide papers into a leather briefcase. “I think it’s better that I stay with my family.”

James nodded. “That’s alright, luv. I’m sure they miss ya.”

Beatrice hummed. She hoped Sara was doing okay.

They parted ways a little while later, just outside the Woolworth Building. James gave her hand one last squeeze, and then they were heading in opposite directions; him towards his apartment, and her towards the bus station.

The bus ride back home was comfortingly peaceful. There weren’t many other passengers on board, and the night air drifting through the air was warm, as it was growing warmer every day. Beatrice rested her head against the seat, trying to relax. She thought about her friends, wondering how their days had been, and whether or not they had something cooking on the stove by now. She was completely ready for a hearty dinner and a good, strong cup of tea.

She wondered how Credence was doing, and what he would do once she returned home. If he had indeed headed to the bakery that morning, then surely he was home by now, cooking dinner with Abel.

Had he told Abel about what she had done? Would he have? She knew it would have been a long and complicated story, if he had indeed told, and that he would’ve had to tell Abel about… about their kind… But surely he hadn’t. Surely he knew the risks it could entail. Lord and saviour, his lover had been the Director of Magical Security, surely he knew.

Beatrice chewed her bottom lip. And… if he had told, what would Abel think of her. It was obvious how in love he was with their new friend. If he found out how she’d hurt Credence, their friendship might suffer too.

*

She worried the rest of the way to her stop, still worrying as she hurried down the darkened street towards the apartment building. She was still worrying as she slipped into the musty vestibule, still worrying as she began to make her way up the staircase, and worrying more than ever as she slid her key into her front door.

The lights were on when she stepped inside her apartment, and there was chatter drifting from the kitchen. She recognized Abel’s voice, and Credence’s, and… a woman’s?

Her eyes widened.

No… it couldn’t be….

She almost fell over sprinting from the doorway to the kitchen, not even bothering to close the front door. She slid through the doorway, wide eyed, staring at the three people sitting at the dining table. Abel was there, and Credence, and Sara was there, and she was smiling.

She smiled at Beatrice as the older woman crashed through the doorway, and stood up to walk over to her.

“Welcome home, Bea,” she said softly, taking Beatrice’s hand. “How was your day?”

Beatrice was speechless, staring down at her friend. She’d just spoken, she was _talking_. She was talking again.

And she was smiling.

Beatrice threw her arms around her Sara, holding her as close she possibly could, inhaling her rosy perfume like a drug. Sara held her just as tightly, rubbing her back as Beatrice started to cry.

“Sara… dear Sara,” Beatrice sobbed unabashedly, not because she was upset but because she was oh so relieved. She’d been so worried about Sara these past few months, so worried about how long it would take for her to start smiling again, to start laughing again, how long it would take for her to be happy. She’d missed her so much.

“I missed you so much,” she sniffed, pulling back to look down at her friend. She touched Sara’s cheek, leaning down to kiss her, and then to pull her into another hug.

Through her tears, she looked at her other two friends, suddenly remembering about Credence. He wasn’t looking at her; he was staring at the table, lips pursed. She frowned a little, feeling the worries start to rise up, but she forced herself to look away. She could save the worrying for later; right now, Sara was in front of her, and she was speaking again. Sara was speaking again.

And she was smiling.

Beatrice smiled too, leaning back down to kiss her again, and again, starting to laugh. Seeing her like this, for the first time, Beatrice let herself believe that everything was going to be okay. Seeing Sara smile, it was nothing short of a miracle, and if such a miracle could occur, then there was no reason other miracles couldn’t. However long it took, she had hope that Percival would forgive her, that they could go back to the friends they’d once been. In that moment, she was sure everything was going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Danke - thank you, in German  
> Tá fáilte romhat - you're welcome, in Gaelic
> 
> Ich lieb dich - I love you, in German  
> Is breá liom tú ró - I love you too, in Gaelic
> 
> Please like and comment! And if you have any questions, feel free to ask!


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry it's been so long. Anyway, *trigger warning* for themes of suicide and mentions of rape in this chapter, for those of you sensitive to such topics. All the best to you :)

Percival had been in the bar for a while.

It was a no-maj bar, hidden away by the docks on East River. On a normal night, he would’ve been down at the Blind Pig, downing firewhiskeys and spiced rums and other far tastier beverages than the catpiss they served in such establishments as this one.

But tonight wasn’t a normal night. Tonight he didn’t want to be seen, not by anyone he would recognize from the offices, not by anyone who would recognize him. He couldn’t stand to have to watch their shock at his sorrow state, to have to witness the pity on their faces. Even the thought of it was enough to make his stomach churn.

Outside, night was falling, muted oranges and lilacs streaking across the sky. Inside, the building was warm, the air filled with mindless chatter and drunken laughter. It was loud, just a bit too loud for Percival’s comfort, and he had decided he should leave a little while ago, but he wasn’t quite ready to stop drinking yet.

He took a sip of beer, his third by this point, grimacing at the taste. It tasted like piss; the fizziness of it hurt his nose. Nevertheless, he took another sip, and then a long gulp. It was better than remembering.

Beatrice’s face flashed through his mind.

Percival cursed under his breath.

He raised the bottle back to his lips, and, suddenly numb to the taste, drank and drank until the bottle was empty.

It was a small feat, in all honestly, as each bottle he’d drunken by this point had been small enough to tuck into a pair of socks, or strap to one’s thigh, which was most certainly the idea, thanks to Prohibition laws.

He set the bottle back onto the bartop a little too loudly, making himself jump, and he cursed again.

He could still see her, her blue-as-blue eyes, tearful as she had pleaded with him, hands reaching for him as he had pushed past her out of the bedroom. He pictured those eyes, wide as he lay into her, cursing her for all she had done. Her remembered her reaching for him as he had begun to grasp random objects and throw them across the room, screaming at the top of his lungs, how he had pushed her back so hard she had almost fallen to the floor, how he had kept pushing her, pushing and pushing until he’d practically thrown her out the front door, the keys in his hand, leaving her indefinitely locked out.

The President herself had arrived several hours later, accompanied by her Aurors and several other staff. This had attracted the attention of a good portion of the surrounding homes’ residents, and fairly soon a small crowd had gathered around Percival’s glorified prison.

Percival had watched them through the lace curtain in the bedroom window, not wanting to be seen. Anguished though he still felt by the morning’s events, he was at least a little pleased that despite all their efforts, none of his visitors could get the door open. The President herself had cast most of the protective charms upon the house, and not even she could enter without the exact copy of the keys, that of which Percival had all that time clutched tightly in his right hand.

Percival swallowed. He raised the bottle back to his lips before remembering it was empty, and cursed again.

He asked the bartender for something a little stronger, a whole bottle of it, and a few moments later a bottle of whiskey was sliding down the bartop into his hand. It was Bourbon, one of the cheaper brands of whiskey, Percival already knew, but hopefully not too bad.

He unscrewed the top and took a cautious sip. It was a little better than the beer, but it still tasted like piss.

Nevertheless, a drink was a drink, and tonight was a night to forget.

He drank a little more, and then this time it was not Beatrice’s face but Credence’s flashing through his mind.

Percival almost immediately felt a lump in his throat.

He grit his teeth, doing his best to swallow it down. He took a larger sip of his drink, but now all he could see were soft brown eyes, and a cautious smile. He saw those eyes, now tear-filled and frightened, staring at him as though he were a stranger.

Percival tipped the bottle back on his next drink, chugging it down like a pirate with his rum. The whiskey burned in his throat and he began to cough, but he kept drinking, eyes squeezed shut with the effort, until the bottle was empty.

He coughed and spluttered, setting the bottle down on the bartop, again a little too hard, again making himself jump. He cursed under his breath. He asked for another bottle.

He was beginning to feel a little light-headed.

The whiskey came sliding down the bartop. Percival finished half of it before he was even conscious of the bottle sliding into his hand.

It burned all the way down.

Percival set the bottle down, grimacing. He sighed heavily.

Credence had looked so… different. Different to how Percival knew him normally. His eyes, once lifeless and glum, had glinted with a light Percival had rarely seen there before. His cheeks had been pink, his stomach just a little plump, his hair long and glossy. If Percival had had the courage to reach out and touch him, he was sure it would’ve felt softer than it had ever been.

He took another drink, and wiped his lips. His vision was beginning to blur.

He took another drink, blinking blearily. He sighed, tapping his fingers on the bartop.

He finished the bottle, now starting to feel a little annoyed. He was barely even drunk. What the fuck?

He asked the bartender for a bottle of something even stronger, his mind too foggy by now to remember the names of different drinks. It took a minute for the words to form in his mouth.

A few moments later, another bottle was sliding along the bartop. Percival was barely even aware of it passing before him until it had almost passed him. He lunged for it, catching it just as it fell off the bar. He toppled out of his seat in the action, however, but luckily neither him nor the bottle came off the worse for wear.

Percival had put his cane beside his stool when he’d first sat down. He hated the cane. _Hated_ it. It made him feel like an invalid. But he needed it, and, grumbling, he leaned heavily on it for support as he climbed back into his seat.

People were looking at him, some in disgust, some in amusement. A young woman looked particularly concerned.

Percival turned his back on them, grumbling further. He twisted the cap off the bottle and began to drink without even reading the label. Fuck it. Fuck it all.

It felt like fire in his throat. He spat his mouthful back out in shock, coughing heavily. What the fuck?

He looked at the label. It was vodka.

Percival swore again, unaware of how loud it was. Fuck, he hadn’t had vodka in years.

He grit his teeth. Fuck it.

He kept drinking, sip by sip, ignoring the burn, ignoring the ache in the back of his head. Fuck this. Fuck them. Fuck it all.

He heard noise behind him, only becoming fully conscious of someone talking to him when he felt a hand touch his shoulder.

He whipped around in a panic, his mind suddenly clear, arm already swinging in defense from the attacker. He had just a moment to realize it was the young woman from before and not an attacker, not his kidnapper, not his abuser, before he was losing his balance again, toppling off the stool once more, the vodka still in his hand. He fell heavily to the floor, his head smacking against the bottle. He felt it shatter, felt the shards pierce his skin, and then he knew no more.

*

When he woke again, he was cold, and it was dark, and he was surrounded by the smell of something putrid. He could hear insects buzzing around him, could feel their wings brush against his bare skin. He was lying on something hard and uncomfortable. His arm was trapped beneath his body, and it felt numb and stiff. His leg hurt.

And…

There was _something_ warm, and sticky, dripping onto his face.

Disgusted, groaning in effort, Percival managed to roll onto his back, freeing his cramped arm. He groaned again as his head throbbed at the movement. His stomach twisted. When he moved his leg, pain shot up into his thigh,

Percival coughed, a disgusting taste in his mouth. He breathed in through his mouth, the air cool and refreshing despite the odour. An insect buzzed by his ear, and he swatted at it, head throbbing again at the sudden movement. He groaned.

Where _was_ he?

He was surrounded by darkness, but he could feel the breeze around him, and when he looked up, he could see stars shining faintly, somewhere far away. He was outside, he coi;d tell, but where? He reached out, and his hand touched something cold and rough. It felt like brick, or perhaps cement. It reached up, like a wall.

He reached out the other way, groaning with the effort. His arms felt heavy as bags of sand.

He touched something cold and greasy. It felt like metal, or steel. His eyes hadn’t yet begun to adjust to the darkness, so he couldn’t tell what it was.

He dropped his arms, sighing, confused beyond belief. How did he get here? He thought back, trying to remember the last thing he could remember.

He remembered being in a bar, a no-maj speakeasy. He remembered drinking himself silly, which would account for his pounding headache. He… remembered being frightened by a young woman, and falling out of his seat, and then falling unconscious. He remembered his head hitting the glass bottle in his hand. It must’ve cut him.

Percival touched his head, wincing when he indeed felt what appeared to be several cuts just above his ear. The cuts had mostly dried, and luckily it didn’t appear any glass seemed to remain stuck in them. He dropped his hand, sighing again.

What to do now?

His eyes had adjusted to the darkness by now. He looked around as much as he could without moving his head. He _was_ beside a wall, and on the other side he was surrounded by steel trash bins. He managed to sit up, reaching out to grasp one of the bins for support. The surface was greasy under his hand, but he managed to get a grip on the edge, and it was full enough to support him as he lifted himself up onto his knees, without falling over. He grunted with the effort.

He looked around fully, still uncertain of where he was. He was in an alley, open on both ends, filled with trashbins and crates of empty bottles. He guessed he was behind the speakeasy building, or at least not far from it. He guessed when he lost consciousness, the bartender must’ve had him thrown out so as not to cause a commotion that might’ve been noticeable from outside. Percival recognized this as a smart move, and he understood the guy was only doing his job, but he could’ve at least put Percival in an upright position.

After a few tries, he managed to stand. His legs wobbled haphazardly, and he decided to sit down on the bin lest he topple over. Even after a week in the infirmary under Doctor Moone’s care, he was still weak from imprisonment, from Grin… from _that man’s_ treatment of him. His bones were brittle, his legs unreliable. He… he _hated_ to admit it, but… he needed his cane.

He looked around, eyes squinting through the darkness. Where was it? Did he leave it inside the bar? He knew he had it with him, he remembered setting it beside the stool. He couldn’t go back inside; he’d just be thrown back out again, surely. It was too warm in there anyway, stifling, with all of those joyous people chatting over their drinks, laughing, young couples in love, all of them with people they cared about, people who cared about them…

Percival swallowed. His head throbbed. He stifled a belch.

He sighed heavily, still looking around.

There. There it was. His cane. He spotted it out of the corner of his eye, the metal ring beneath the handle glinting in the dim light streaming from the window of a building on the other side of the back alley. Leaning on the bin for support, he managed to stand back up, and staggered towards it as fast as he could before he collapsed beside it.

Breathing heavily, his head pounding, Percival reached for it, and then dropped his hand. He was so tired. He… he would just rest for a moment, before trying to stand back up. Just for a moment.

Moments passed, minutes, perhaps even half an hour. Percival couldn’t tell without a clock. Eventually, he reached out for his cane again, and wrapped his fingers around the handle, and stopped again. He was so tired, so sore. What if he couldn’t stand again? Maybe… maybe he would just rest a bit more.

The thought was just passing through his mind when he heard something. It was faint, but it still put him on edge.

He moved too fast, bolting up into a sitting position, and his head spun. Nevertheless, he kept moving, shuffling back until he hit a wall. He looked around, squinting through the darkness. He saw nothing, but then he heard the noise again.

It was a faint rattle, seeming as though it was coming from one of the groups of bins on either side of him. It sounded like something was moving through them.

Percival gulped, mind racing, cold with fear. He looked around in a panic, still seeing nothing, but the noise continued, a little louder now. Whatever it was, it was moving towards him.

Percival’s breathing started to get heavier, his mind unable to grasp at anything but fear. It was a quiet night; he was breathing too loudly. Surely whatever it was could hear him.

His hands were shaking. Feeling paralyzed, he managed to clap one over his mouth to muffle his breaths. He gripped the cane tightly in the other. Perhaps he could use it as a weapon. He would not go down again without a fight.

The noise stopped.

And then he heard a loud crash, as he saw one of the bins toppling over. Percival moaned out loud and began to shuffle back, mind numb with terror. It was him. It was _him_. He’d found Percival, had come to take him away again, to hide him where no one would ever find him again, to strip him down and take him over the bed, over the couch, over the table in the dining room…

Percival kept stumbling back, crying now, breathing so hard he could barely hear himself think. He wouldn’t be taken away again, he couldn’t. He can’t. He was only just saved. He can’t go back, he can’t, he can’t-

Another bin fell, and it was then that Percival began to scream.

He lost his balance and fell on his back, hitting his head heavily against the cobblestones. He cried out in pain, his vision blurring for a few moments. He didn’t have the energy to sit up again. But he had to get up, he had to get away. He couldn’t be taken again. He screamed as loud as he could, sobbing now, terrified beyond all reasoning.

In between sobs, he heard a small wail, and then more bins fell as whatever it was scrabbled back. And then he heard the soft footsteps begin to run away, too fast to be human. Percival looked through his fingers just in time to see the silhouette of a cat disappear into the street.

Oh.            

It took a few moments for Percival to fully comprehend what had happened. It had not been an attacker at all, but a street cat, possibly approaching him merely out of curiousity. It must’ve been rather large and clumsy to knock over the bins, or perhaps it was trapped by some, and simply panicked. And when he began to scream, it became frightened and ran away.

Percival fell back down on his elbows, panting, his mind still numb but now a little less so.

It was just a cat. Just a clumsy, harmless cat. He wasn’t in any danger. He was safe.

Percival looked around, still checking for possible dangers. He did his best to breathe slowly, steadily. His breath shook. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears.

If he were still in danger, he would do no good in this state. He had to calm down.

He didn’t feel safe on his back. He managed to rise up into a sitting position, his back against the wall. Still looking around, he began to breathe slow and deep. He put his hand over his heart, feeling the beats begin to slow. His eye was twitching. He closed his eyes.

His brain felt numb.

He moved his hand from his heart to his head, not wanting to let go of his cane. He hated it so, but it could still make for a mode of self-defense.

Percival leaned back against the wall, now looking down at his feet. He felt ridiculous. He felt ashamed. He’d once been one of the strongest wizards and most skilled fighters in the entirety of the United States of America. He’d been the Director of Magical Security. And now look at him. He was weak, pitiful, a shadow of the man he’d once been. He’d been reduced to tears at the moseying of a curious cat.

Percival grimaced in disgust, wiping his eyes angrily. Look at him. Filthy, hungover, smelling like garbage and huddled in the back alley behind a no-maj bar. He couldn’t walk properly. He had to use a cane. That man had pulled his teeth from his mouth, and his nails from his fingers, and his hair from his scalp. His strength was gone. His love was gone. His cat was gone. He didn’t even have his magic left.

Why had it all gone so wrong?

Percival was beginning to breathe normally again, and as his mind cleared of fear, he became conscious of just how terribly it smelled in the alley. He couldn’t stay here even if he wanted to. And it was cold. He had to find somewhere to stay for the night.

But where? He wasn’t going back to his prison, never again. He would buy new clothes. He had plenty of money. Perhaps he could spend the next few nights in a hotel, while he planned out his next move. Yeah, that was a good plan.

Feeling slightly encouraged, Percival decided to stand up. It took a few tries, but eventually, leaning heavily on his cane, he began to make his way down the alley into the street.

The light emanating from the street lamps was fairly dim, but still bright enough to sting his sore eyes. He turned away, looking around the street. He wondered where he should go.

He didn’t have any money on him at the moment, well, not much. He’d earlier traded a silver piece for no-maj dollars to use at the speakeasy. He still had some money, but not enough to stay at hotel a for the night. He wasn’t going back to the house. What other options did he have?

Tina.

Tina had offered to let him stay the night. She had offered to take care of him, to give him good food and a warm bed. She had been so kind to him, despite her fear of him.

That had only been several hours ago, but to Percival it felt like days. He couldn’t go back there, not after how he had treated her. She was afraid of him, or rather his face, and he had fed into her fear, snapping at her for trying to help him. He had been cruel. She had only been trying to help. She still cared for him deeply, despite how that man had treated her using his face. He couldn’t go back. Surely she hated him by now.

Percival had begun to walk as he thought, not very certain of where he was going. The night was cold, colder than it had been the last few days. He wondered if it might rain.

He kept walking, stumbling, gripping his cane. The streets were empty, giving an eerie feel that kept him on edge. Anyone could jump out at him at any given moment, to knock him unconscious and hide him away, and the world would be none the wiser. No one knew where he was. If he was attacked, surely he would never be found again.

Percival shivered, looking about a little more frantically. He had to remain vigilant, to be on alert. He would not be taken by surprise. He would not go down again without a fight.

He had to find somewhere safer. Somewhere more open, where he would be able to see clearly any potential attackers. He was by the East River, the Brooklyn Bridge not far away. He would head there, and then think of what to do.

And so, as fast and quietly as he could, he began to make his way to the bridge. If he walked by the water, he could see it up ahead, not far away at all. And walking like this, on the damp cobblestones, he would definitely be able to hear someone running up to him from behind, or feel the atmosphere change around him. This comforted him, and, feeling a little safer than before, he began to walk a little faster. He still much preferred to be able to see all around him.

He heard a noise and jerked a little in surprise. He looked around, doing his best to remain calm. There was probably no need to panic. It was probably just another animal.

He heard a scrabbling sound, like nails scraping on wood, and then a little ways away, he spotted a cat jumping up onto a stack of crates.

Percival sighed in relief, even chuckling a little. How many cats were there around here?

The cat looked at him in interest, her eyes glinting in the dark. Percival looked back, standing still so as not to frighten her. He didn’t want her to run away.

“Hello,” he said quietly, and smiled a little. He felt comforted with her there. He wondered if she was the cat he had frightened earlier.

A few moments passed, and then, with a small meow, the cat jumped down from the crates and began to tread towards him. She meowed again, a little louder, and pawed at his shoes. She curled around his legs, meowing, nudging her head against his ankle. She seemed to really like him.

The light was still dim, but Percival could see she was rather small and scrawny, too much so to be the cat he had seen earlier, and was positively caked with dirt and grime. She probably smelled just as bad as she did. Percival knelt down to tickle her chin, gripping the middle of his cane, and she pushed her head into his hand, purring loudly. She trusted him.

He wondered who she belonged to, if she even had an owner. She seemed so trustful and sweet, too much so to be a street cat. Perhaps she had only been on the street a short while. There was no way she had an owner, looking the way she did.

He petted her sticky back, cooing softly. Under the muck and matted fur, Percival could feel the bones of her spine and ribcage. He winced, a little nauseous at the sensation, but kept petting her all the same. He scratched behind her ears, the way he used to do with Tabitha. She purred even louder at that.

He heard a scuffling sound nearby and tensed up, fingers tightening around his cane. The cat tensed too.

From the darkness emerged a rat, chittering quietly, followed by what Percival guessed to be her children. The cat’s ears flicked up. Her eyes flashed.

Percival relaxed just a little. Just another animal.

The little family scurried quickly out of sight, all of them chittering to each other. The cat watched them go, grumbling, tail flicking sharply, but she stayed where she was. Once the rats had disappeared she too relaxed, turning back to nudge against Percival’s leg. She didn’t seem to want to leave him.

He smiled a little, tickling under her chin again. She pushed her head into his hand, licking his palm.

Percival smiled again, but he already felt a little despaired. He missed _his_ cat. His Tabitha. He still didn’t know where she was, whether or not she was even still alive. Beatrice had never found her, not even after almost a month of searching. He guessed she must be dead by now, dead or taken in by another family.

Percival sighed again, leaning back against the large wooden crate he was crouched in front of. He put his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes. His missed his cat, her warm fur, her soft white paws. He missed the way her whiskers tickled his cheek when she kissed his nose. He missed the warm weight of her on his lap as he read on the sofa. He missed coming home after a difficult day to have her greet him at the door. He missed her blue eyes. He missed the heart-shaped spot of white fur just above her front left leg. He missed the way she would wake him up in the morning, resting on his chest and pawing at his nose, meowing loud enough to wake the neighbours as well. He missed the way she wriggled and growled when a bird perched outside the window. He missed how meticulous she was about keeping her paws clean. Hell, he even missed the dead birds and mice she would sometimes leave under the blanket for him to find when he climbed into bed. He missed _her_ , sometimes so much he was reduced to tears. He wished he knew where she was. All he wanted was to find her and bring her home.

Well… not all he wanted…

_Credence…_

Percival sighed, again, slumping back against the crate. The cat perched up, resting her paws on his knees. She meowed until he began to pet her again. Crouched down like this, closer to her level, Percival suddenly became aware of just how terrible the cat smelled. She smelled even worse than him. She was probably covered in shit and garbage, though it was hard to tell in the dim light. He was probably getting it all on his hands.

The thought made Percival stop petting her for a moment, and then the cat started meowing again. It was then that Percival also realized just how loud she was.

If he wasn’t careful, she could attract attention. Bad attention. He should on the bridge by now, where he could see enemies coming on all sides. There were too many places to hide here, too many dark corners and things to duck behind, and while that might be convenient for Percival, it was also convenient for anyone who wished him harm.

But…

He didn’t want to leave the cat.

It was too dangerous to stay out here, where anyone could be watching him. He needed to be somewhere safer – he should be there now – but he didn’t want to leave her behind. As much as she seemed to like him, he wasn’t sure if she would follow him that far.

Well, maybe he could be okay where he was. As loud as the cat was, Percival did feel a little safer with her there. She seemed to be just as wary of danger as he was, just as alert to every little sound.

He kept petting her, whispering to her. She purred even louder than before as he began to scratch behind her ears again, twisting her head to lick his hand. Percival grinned, cooing to her. She meowed in reply.

A few yards away, a door burst open with a loud crash. Percival almost jumped out of his skin, jerking back in surprise. The cat, also startled by the noise, meowed once and then ran away. Percival looked after her in despair, wanting to run after her but too frightened to move.

He looked towards the source of the noise, shrinking back into the shadows to hide from view. He held his cane aloft, ready to use it as a weapon.

From a building a few yards away, a young man sauntered out the open door, smoking a cigarette and carrying a crate of what looked to be empty bottles. There was a lamp beside the door, and so Percival could see him rather clearly. He hoped the young man could not see him.

The young man walked towards the river, staggering slightly as though drunk, and tipped the bottles into the water, whistling around the cigarette. He took a long drag of the cigarette, and then tossed it into the water as well.

Percival scowled, annoyed. The youth of today could be so careless. The city was littered enough already without their contribution.

The young man looked out at the water for a few moments more, still whistling, and then turned around to head back indoors. It was only when the door had fully closed behind him did Percival remember how to breathe.

He leaned back against the wall, breathing shakily. It was alright. He was fine. It was only a young drunkard. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to fear.

He leaned his head back, looking up at the night sky. A few stars were visible between darkened clouds. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, filling his lungs with the cool fresh air.

He was okay. There was nothing to fear.

Once he managed to regain himself, he opened his eyes again, looking around for the cat. The young man had appeared to give her as much of a fright as him, for she was nowhere to be seen.

Percival saddened, squinting through the darkness, desperate to find her. She had comforted him so, had made him feel safe in the short time she was there. He didn’t want her to be gone so soon.

But minutes passed, and she never returned, and eventually, Percival decided to stand, and continue towards his destination.

He walked slowly, silently, looking back every few seconds. He couldn’t see her anywhere.

It took him a few moments to realize that he’d stopped in his tracks, stubbornly staring into the darkness. He realized a second after that there were tears in his eyes.

Percival cursed quietly, reaching up to wipe his eyes impatiently. What was the matter with him? He’d only known the cat for five minutes. He had to be stronger than this. It was a cat that had indeed led to this whole mess, after all.

Percival sighed shakily, wiping his wet hands on his nightrobe. Fuck, he was still wearing his pyjamas. He’d been so eager to find his boy; he hadn’t even bothered to dress that morning.

He should’ve just stayed home.

No. Not home. He didn’t have a home anymore.

Percival tsked under his breath, stumbling forward. He felt quite weak, all of a sudden. His head still hurt. He was still afraid. He was too out in the open. He was making too much noise. The ground was wet. Perhaps he should take off his shoes, carry them instead. No, that would take too much time.

He looked back towards the bridge. It suddenly seemed so far away, and so bright. There were lamps set up all along the bridge, to keep it illuminated till sunrise. It was too bright, too bright for him to go. He would have nowhere to hide, nowhere to run if he was trapped on both sides. He couldn’t go there.

He wanted to go home.

Percival stopped again, blinking back tears. Home.

He wanted to go home.

Percival took a shaky breath, mouth hanging open. Home. Home…

He didn’t have a home anymore.

Percival kept stumbling forward, now not knowing where exactly he wanted to go. He wiped his eyes angrily, but the tears wouldn’t stop. He wanted to go home. He wanted his cat. He wanted his friends. He wanted his boy… who was afraid of him. Credence, his boy, his love, was afraid of him.

Percival sobbed, aware of how loud it was but no longer caring. Let them come. Let them get him. They could never torture him as much as he was now.

Percival tripped on a stone, falling to his knees. He cursed, sniffing; attempted to stand back up, but his legs were suddenly so heavy, his arms suddenly so weak. He tried again, but he only managed a few more steps before he was stumbling back down again. He’d been ignoring it earlier with all the excitement, but he wasn’t as strong as he used to be. Weeks after weeks of torture down in _his_ dreaded box, lashes and burns and cuts and _rape_ , and slippery cold hands gripping his skull, shocking his brain, frying his skin, until finally he broke and then further, until the last of his magic had been sucked from his body, until he could fight no longer. From that, he knew his body would never recover.

He kept walking for a while, legs trembling but stubborn to stay on his feet. But eventually, he could stand no longer, and dropped back down, wiping his teary eyes. He managed to scuffle back against the edge of the dock, circling around a pole. He scooted along the edge until he was obscured behind a cluster of garbage cans, to his right more crates and boxes. Here he was hidden, at least, until his meager strength returned. He set his cane down by his side.

The water was right behind him.

Percival turned to face the river, slumping back against the boxes. He covered his mouth to muffle his breathing, careful to breathe only through his mouth, as his nose might whistle.

He looked out at the water, rippling and ominous, darker than the night sky. A faint cloud of mist hung over its surface.

Percival watched it intently, trying to catch a glimpse of something in its murky depths. He stared, eyes glued to the darkness, completely still. He didn’t think he’d ever seen the river at night before, not like this, anyway. He felt mesmerized. He felt as though it were watching him back.

He didn’t know how to swim.

Percival exhaled, drawing his legs up to his chin, curling his arms around them, as he continued gazing upon the water. It was so dark at night, and who knew how deep. He wondered how long it would take to reach the bottom.

Percival took another shaky breath, covering his mouth.

He wondered how many bodies lay beneath the surface.

Percival looked at his hands, frail and white, still waxy from the burns. He shuffled a little closer to the edge, dipping his fingers into the water. It was cold, but soothing. Somehow, it felt rather soft.

As a child, he’d been afraid of the water.

Five years old, his first family outing to the beach, he’d watched someone drown. Another child, a little older than him, had wandered too far from shore, disappeared under the waves and never resurfaced. He remembered splashing about happily, his mother’s hands firm on his hips as he waded through the cool water. He remembered watching the boy walk further and further out, little hands reaching for something floating just out his reach. He remembered the strong waves pushing the boy under, keeping him under for far too long. He remembered his mother’s shocked gasp, how her grip on him tightened as she began to hurry him back to shore. He remembered what must’ve been the boy’s parents screaming and crying, running in fully past him, diving under but coming back up without him in their arms. He remembered not being fully aware of what was happening then but crying anyway, knowing at least then that he never wanted to go to the beach again. He remembered how they did find the boy again several days later, washed up by the current to the opposite shore, his corpse blue and bloated, eyes wide open, mouth frozen in his last silent scream.

He’d had nightmares of that day for weeks after they found the boy’s body, dissolving into fits of panic at the mere thought of having to return to the place where he’d seen someone die. He remembered becoming fearful of not only the beach but of all bodies of water, refusing even baths for the longest time because he didn’t want to disappear under the water the way that boy had, never able to see his parents again.

Percival leaned forward a little; dipped his hand further into the river, watching it disappear in its inky depths.

He wasn’t afraid of water anymore.

Percival lifted his hand out, shaking it out a bit. He leaned back, putting his hands in his lap, gazing quietly across the darkness.

He could do it.

He didn’t know how to swim. He’d never learned. He could shift forward and slide into the water, push himself away from the edge and sink down into the darkness. It was so dark down there, so dark up where he was as well, he knew he wouldn’t be able to tell which way was up. He could just sink, sink down, just let it all be over. Once again.

Percival leaned his head back against the crate, sighing aloud. To think… he’d spent so long as a child terrified of dying in the water, and now here he was, considering it as his final option.

Was it his final option?

He guessed he could go back to the Goldstein’s, but then what? Tina was afraid of him, he knew. He didn’t even know how the other Goldstein girl felt about him. She’d been hospitable enough when she was helping Tina help him… but he’d never really talked to her much, had only grunted and hummed in response to her bubbly chatter. And even then, she was only doing her job. He didn’t know how she really felt about him. For all he knew, she hated him, and blamed him for what the man wearing his face had down to her sister. But anyway, he’d already treated Tina like shit earlier. If they didn’t dislike him then they sure as hell must hate him now.

Percival curled his hand into a fist, and then released it, angry at himself. They could’ve been allies, but he’d ruined it already, just like he ruined everything.

Why couldn’t he have been stronger than that day? He could’ve prevented it all. He could have his friends, his cat, his love. He could have his sanity. He could have his god-be-damned eyebrows.

Why did it all have to go so wrong?

He’d been happy before it all began, the happiest he’d been since Lily had died. He’d found love again; in someone he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life taking care of. He’d had his career, his friends, his cat. He’d had his staff and associates looking up at him in admiration and gratitude rather than in resentment, fear and distrust. He’d had love. Perhaps it had all blinded him, caused him to not to fight back as much as he could have. He’d had his guard down. He’d never imagined he could have lost it all so quickly.

Percival sighed again, louder, not caring anymore who heard him. Let them hear him. Let them come for him. Let him die. What did he have left to live for, anyway?

Percival pursed his lips. He looked down at the water.

What _did_ he have left to live for?

He’d lost his job. He’d lost his home. Look at him now; filthy, shivering and hungover, huddled outside in the dark at ungodly hours of the morning, surrounded by garbage on the edge of a dock. He’d lost his oldest and dearest friend, and had then driven away his only possible allies. He’d lost his home, the home he’d shared with Lily, the home he’d shared with Credence, every inch of it now tainted and stained by that bastard’s slippery fingers, every inch of _him_ now stained and marred and burned and scarred and scratched and… and…

And Beatrice had brought a young man by the house yesterday.

A young man with soft dark hair and soft dark eyes, pink cheeks and a bright smile. Percival hadn’t recognized him then, but it clicked for him now.

 _Credence_.

Credence… His boy… his love… He’d never thought they would’ve been driven apart so soon.

But he’d been right there, merely a yard or so away, standing in the street outside his glorified prison. He’d been standing there in new clothes and shoes, cheeks pink and waist plump and a smile on his face that Percival had only seen several times before. And Beatrice had lied to his face, yet again. What had she said, that he was called? Oscar? Oscar. Where in the world had she come up with that?

She’d said something else too. She’d said that… that he had feelings for another man.

Percival felt something inside him sink.

Credence had feelings for another man.

And then Percival almost howled, feeling something rip inside him, his heart tearing itself into a hole. He clutched at his chest, mouth stretched open in silent agony, tears once again filling his eyes.

Credence… his boy, his love… was his no longer.

Percival sobbed again. Credence loved someone else. Credence loved someone else. Credence didn’t love him anymore…

Percival’s head fell forward as he began to cry once more, hot tears sliding down his cheeks and falling into the cold water below. He tried to stay quiet at first, but then the pain in his throat became too much, and he began sobbing, fists clenched and beating at the stone on either side of him. He buried his head in his hands, stuffed a fist into his mouth to keep from screaming. He wanted to scream, but he was making too much noise already. Anyone could hear him.

Let them hear him. It wasn’t like they would care. Why should they?

Let them hear him. Let them come. Let them take him away, let him die.

No, no, no he couldn’t go back. He wouldn’t be taken away again. He couldn’t die again, not again.

He was already dead.

Percival cried, hands clutched over his mouth but still unable to suppress his whimpers and shaky gasps. And then he moved his hands away, and cried freely. Let them hear him. Let _him_ hear him. Let the bastard come and take him away. He was past fighting. He was ready to die.

He had nothing left to live for, anyway.

Percival opened his eyes, still crying, looking back out across the river though his tear-filled gaze. The darkness looked back.

He had nothing left to live for.

Percival wiped his eyes, still crying, staring down at the water. His reflection, barely visible in the dim light of the street-lamps, stared back.

He looked up, and there was pink sky on the horizon. Dawn was breaking. He knew the sunrise would be beautiful.

But it would be just like every other sunrise before.

And then Percival was shifting forward, sliding into the water just as he heard a scrabbling sound behind him. He turned his head to look back, but then his world was dark, and cold, and he felt lighter than usual but his clothes felt heavier. He’d forgotten to close his mouth; his mouth was full of water, but he couldn’t expel it, because now he was surrounded by water, surrounded by heavy darkness and a gentle current.

He wondered which way he was facing. His eyes were closed, but he couldn’t remember how it felt to have them open under water. He opened them. The water stung a little, but he didn’t close them again.

His chest was already beginning to feel tight.

From where he was, he _could_ indeed tell which way was up, as the dim lights on the docks were still shining into the water. And above the surface, the sky was getting lighter, as the sun began to rise.

He wasn’t too far from the surface, but he was beginning to sink, and he kept looking up as he drifted further down.

He didn’t feel sad. He didn’t feel pain. He didn’t feel anything at all.

His mouth was full of water. He couldn’t breathe at all. He didn’t know how to swim.

But that was okay. He was ready, for certain now. He welcomed death with open arms.

He opened his arms.

He was still crying.

He looked up, unable to breathe, crying even under water, and as black spots began to cloud his vision, he saw something fall into the water. He heard a muffled splash, and then the water rippled around him, as something drifted down towards him.

It was dark where he was; Percival couldn’t make out what the object was. He couldn’t breathe; his lungs were screaming in his chest. He could barely keep his eyes open any more.

Whatever it was touched his face. He felt something sharp, and then something soft. He squinted in the darkness. Wide eyes were staring into his.

It was the cat.

Percival’s eyes widened; he began to panic for the first time. What, why had she followed him in? Did she know how to swim? What if she drowned too? No, no, he wouldn’t let her die with him.

He didn’t know how to swim, but he’d watched others do it. He knew what to do. He would not let this cat die.

He reached out, movements slow in the water. He tucked his arm around her, holding her close to him. His head was pounding. He knew he would pass out soon.

He reached out blindly, his vision almost completely obscured, and eventually found stone. Using it as a guide, he began to kick clumsily upward, the way his mother had taught him so long ago. His clothes felt heavier than ever then, his legs were so weak, he could barely see, but he kept going. He wouldn’t let the moronic creature die.

Finally, miraculously, he breached the surface, the cool air whipping around him as if angry with him. He gasped, choked, spluttered, sucking in lungfuls of air. The cat was still underwater. With the last of his strength, he hauled her up, setting her down on the dock as gently as he could, and then he collapsed against it himself, coughing hoarsely, swearing, spewing up saltwater.

He dropped his head into his arms, face turned towards her, the rest of his body still in the water. He wasn’t ready to go back under yet. Not until he knew she was safe.

The cat lay motionless for a moment, but Percival could see her chest rising and falling. And soon, she staggered up, and immediately began yelling until she saw him behind her, at which point she stumbled over to him, purring louder than ever before, and began kissing every inch of his face.

He cursed under his breath, but he smiled at her. She was alright. He had saved her.

Still panting, he looked back out at the water. He sighed heavily. He couldn’t go back under, not with her here. He wasn’t sure whether or not she would jump after him again, and he wouldn’t be able to die with that on his conscience.

Fucking hell.

Percival shook his head, sighing again, turning back to the cat. He grumbled at her, hoping she knew what a mess she’d made of things. He didn’t want to live anymore. Couldn’t she just leave him be?

Percival grunted, dropping his head again, deciding to stay like this until he regained his breathing. The cat kept meowing at him, pawing at his shoulders and kissing his exposed neck. She tangled her claws in his wet, greasy hair.

Percival cursed quietly as he claws dug into his scalp, but he managed a smile as he turned back to her. She purred especially loud when he looked at her again. He reached up weakly, and petted the top of her head.

“I… I knew you would bring trouble, you-little-runt,” he rasped, coughing the last words out. She purred in response, butting her head into his hand.

Percival set his head down, watching her tiredly. He coughed some more, until at last he could breathe normally.

Holy fuck.

He’d just tried to kill himself.

Percival looked back out at the water. The sun had begun to rise by now, casting light across the water. The river looked hardly as daunting as before, but now all he wanted was to be out of it.

He’d just tried to kill himself. Again.

Percival turned back to the dock; looked around for something to help him out of the river. The cat watched him in interest, still purring.

His cane was still lying on the ground, some feet away. Percival shifted along the edge towards it, the cat following closely. Percival gripped the end of the cane in his hand, and then reached forward just enough to hook the handle around a nearby lamppost. His hands were wet, and slipped on the polished ebony, but he soon managed to get enough of a grip to eventually haul himself halfway out of the water, and then grasped onto the post with his hands to pull himself up the rest of the way.

He collapsed on the cement, panting, closing his eyes. The cat jumped onto his stomach, making him grunt, and meowed at him until he opened his eyes again. He looked at her, and she stepped forward to press her head against his.

She was still very wet, turning the dirt and grime coating her fur into mud. A bit of it rubbed off on his cheek. He wiped it away.

He lay back down, still panting, exhausted.

He was alive.

He was _alive_.

The cat meowed again, turning a few circles on his chest before settling down. She tucked her head into the crook of his neck. Her breath was warm on his skin.

He turned his head towards the river. He looked out across the water.

It rippled gently, the surface shining in the sunlight, but its depths were still just as dark. It still called to him, and one day he might return. One day, he might slide back down into the darkness.

But not today.

He turned away, looking back up towards the lightening sky. He closed his eyes

He was alive.

Eventually, he decided he had to move. He couldn’t stay here forever; it was morning. Whoever worked at the docks would surely be along soon, now that dawn had broken. He still didn’t know where he could go, but that didn’t matter anymore. He had the cat with him now. They’d cross that bridge when they came to it.

He shifted a little, alerting the cat he needed to move. The cat grumbled a little, but eventually stepped back onto the ground. He managed to sit up, grunting with the effort, and shifted back so he could lean against the lamppost. The cat jumped right back into his lap.

Percival chuckled a little, smiling at her. She was a sweet thing.

He reached up to stroke her back, using his other hand to scratch behind her ears. The water had already softened some of the grime she was coated in, and a lot of it fell away into his lap as Percival ran his hand down her fur.

Underneath the filth, her fur was patchy and coarse, but Percival kept petting her fondly. The dirt cleared away quite a bit in some places, allowing Percival to see what she really looked like. Her fur was orange, an orange as bright as a gleaming copper kettle. She was the same colour as Tabitha.

Percival looked down, tutting. He turned his attention to her head, trying to clear away some of the stickier grime there. He wiped his filthy hands on his pyjama bottoms.

She licked his hand as he worked, seemingly uncaring of the grime it was now coated in. Why did she like him so much?

The fur on her head was in far better shape than the rest of her, though it was a lot duller, and there was almost no fur above her left eye, where she had a scar. Now that it was lighter, her eyes weren’t shining as much, and he could see their colour too. Her eyes were blue.

Tabitha’s eyes were blue.

Percival’s eyes widened. His breath caught in his throat.

The cat looked up at him intently. He almost couldn’t speak.

“T-Tabitha?”

Tabitha meowed happily at the sound of her name, climbing up his chest to bury her head into the crook of his neck. From this angle, with some of the grime wiped away, he could see the little white heart just above her front left leg.

Tears filled Percival’s eyes once more.

“Tabitha.”

Tabitha purred in response.

And then Percival began to cry, harder than he had before. It was Tabitha, it was really her. It was his cat. She’d been gone for so long, he’d missed her so much.

But he’d found her.

Percival sobbed, wrapping his arms around her, holding her close to his chest. She meowed in slight protest, but she didn’t attempt to struggle out of his grip. He kissed her again and again, not caring that she was still rather dirty. He’d never let her go again.

Tabitha. He’d found his Tabitha.

That was something to live for.

Percival’s tears seeped down into her fur. She turned her head to lick his cheeks. He held her even closer.

He reached out for his cane, and tucked it under his arm so he could use the lamppost to haul himself. He kept a firm hold on his cat all the while. She wouldn’t stop kissing him.

He gripped his cane firmly with his free hand, setting it down against the ground. He adjusted Tabitha against his chest, leaning down to kiss her forehead. She purred strongly enough for him to feel the vibrations.

“I love you,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against hers. “I promise I will never leave you again.”

Across the river, the sun had risen. The sky was pink and blue.

He kissed Tabitha again, and whispered to her, “let’s go home.”

Stumbling only slightly, Percival turned away from the water. And then he began to walk, back the way he had come, away from the bridge. The cat clung onto him, purring gently.

The Goldsteins lived rather far from where he was, but once he made his way back into the city, he could always call a cab. He hoped the driver would allow him to keep his cat.

And… he hoped Tina would take him back.

*

It had been almost three weeks since Beatrice had last seen Percival.

The president had indeed selected several Aurors to scour the city for her friend, but even by the end of the day after Beatrice had yet to receive news of any helpful findings. Despite the unimaginable surprise she had been met with upon returning home that night, hearing Sara’s voice again for the first time in too long, and despite what Alma had told her, that she and Percival would meet again soon, Beatrice had spent the next few nights lying awake in bed, sick with worry and flooded with regret.

Several more days had passed without news. Beatrice did find herself wondering several times if the president had asked any information be kept from her, but she was certain Madam Picquery recognized how important it was to Beatrice that her friend was found to be safe. Surely she could not be so cruel.

It seemed, however, that her worries weren’t as implausible as they ought to have been, for it was only by word of mouth a whole week after last seeing Percival that Beatrice discovered he had returned to the Goldstein’s apartment, and was apparently staying with them until further notice.

Beatrice was of course hurt that the information had been kept from her, but she understood that it was most likely done with Percival’s wellbeing in mind. She’d been foolish the other day, bursting in on him in a place where he had no power and ignoring his protests. She had been selfish, again. She should have left the moment he began to back away. She shouldn’t have gone at all.

No, it wasn’t wrong for her to want to apologize. She’d just gone about it the wrong way. She had to give him space, if that was what he wanted. They would meet again, one day, and she would await that day with patience.

As for Credence, the young man still had yet to speak a word to her, or even to look her in the eye, something she wasn’t angry at him for but rather surprised that neither of their friends seemed to have noticed. Or perhaps they had, but were waiting for her to speak up about it lest they were wrong. But anyway, Beatrice understood how Credence must feel still living beside her after all she had done, how trapped he must feel in their little apartment, no way to avoid her and nowhere else to go. She tried to give him as much space as he could, making sure not to stand too close, or walk behind him when he was sitting down. When they sat down for meals, she made sure only to look at him when he was looking at her, and was careful not to let her hands brush his when she was handing him food. She understood how particular he was about touch. He was very much like Abel in that sense.

But she missed him. Her mensch. She felt even more protective of him now that she had failed him. She wanted to touch his cheek, to hold him close to her. He was only a boy, so sweet and so careful and so eager to please them all. She wished she hadn’t let her fear cloud her perception of him. She wished she had shown him the affection and love she indeed felt for him, when she’d had the chance.

But at least Sara was speaking again. At least something good had sprouted from the mess she’d put herself in. Though Beatrice still worried for her friend, she was content that he had somewhere to live, and she fell asleep each night with Sara wrapped securely in her arms, and woke up each morning to warm brown hands clutching hers. Three weeks after her first words, Beatrice still couldn’t believe it, but she managed to keep her excitement contained. Sara had never been one for putting on a show, and Beatrice respected that. Still, it didn’t keep Beatrice from kissing her first thing in the morning and last thing at night, and every time Sara murmured yet another word in front of her. It didn’t keep her from holding Sara’s hand tighter than usual, or from pulling her into spontaneous hugs whenever they crossed paths in the apartment (which was very often).

At least something good had come from all this.

Beatrice went through her days now as usual. Since Percival had refused the continuation of his care, there was no need for her to keep spending time away from work. She found herself back in action a few days after last seeing Percival, arresting law-breakers and interrogating criminals with her usual gusto. She still loved her work, and at least the hands-on job allowed her to release some of the pent-up frustration and anger at herself she found herself quickly becoming consumed by.

But fortunately, James was always by her side. He was her rock. He grounded her, kept her sane. She didn’t know what she would do without him.

Two weeks after she’d last seen Percival, he took her out for dinner. The night had been pleasant, and the food had been tasty. They’d danced a little, and walked through Central Park hand-in-hand. On the way to her apartment, he’d kissed her shyly. They’d dated before, a little after they’d first met, but had eventually decided to keep a strictly professional relationship, but right then Beatrice hadn’t much cared. She’d kissed him back.

And so, almost three weeks since she’d last seen Percival, Beatrice was preparing breakfast when the doorbell rang.

It was a Saturday, and she didn’t have work. She was dressed in pyjamas and slippers.

When she answered the front door, Percival was standing on the other side.

She was too shocked to do anything but stare.

There was a beat. Percival looked very uncomfortable, and his eyes were frightened, but he managed to smile at her. She didn’t know how to react, or what to say, so she kept silent. He spoke first.

“Hello Beatrice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please like and comment :)
> 
> I'm thnks-fr-th-feels on Tumblr!


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